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Akira Kurosawa’s dreams: Creating an unconscious autobiography
The Arts in Psychotherapy 28 (2001) 103–108
Akira Kurosawa’s dreams: creating an unconscious autobiography Michael Stratton, MSW, ACSW* 790 W. Lake Lansing Road, #300, East Lansing, MI 48823, USA
Introduction This paper explores a film of Akira Kurosawa’s that depicts representations of significant dreams he had during the course of his life. The author uses each episode as a separate prism to view perspectives of working with, and appreciating, dreams. At age 80, the Japanese filmmaker Akira Kurosawa filmed representations of eight significant dreams he’d had during the course of his life. In creating the film, “Akira Kurosawa’s Dreams,” he revealed himself more fully than he did in his own autobiography. Each dream can be used to view a different perspective of dreams and working with dreams— our own, and our clients—to help us enrich our understanding of the mystery and the power that lies within and beyond our dreams. The relation between dreaming and films is parallel in this sense: perhaps dreams mean to the individual what films mean to the society (Stratton, 2000). Some creative artifact that spins a new perspective, sometimes enlightening, sometimes depicting, other times obscuring a specific issue or dynamic. In an effort to avoid reductive thinking, this article will focus on dream appreciation rather than dream interpretation. So much of the focus on dream work has been to understand their meaning, leaving us with simplistic answers for symbols that may have many layers and resonate in different ways in response to different tones. Akira Kurosawa was born in Tokyo in 1910. His early life was significantly shaped by two losses— his
* E-mail address: [email protected] (M. Stratton).
sister’s death when he was in the 4th grade and his brother’s suicide when Akira was 23 (Kurosawa, 1983). Though his family had a samurai’s bloodline (Richie, 1996), Kurosawa was turned down by the military (Kurosawa, 1983). An artist at an early age, Kurosawa displayed talents in painting and a strong interest in literature. One of his early paintings was displayed at the prestigious Nitten Exhibition, when he was 18 (Kurosawa, 1983). The cost of paints and canvas proved to be expensive, so Kurosawa looked for a job and applied to become an assistant director for a filmmaker—a job he found in the classified section of a newspaper. Perhaps the only time a painter turned to the medium of film because of the expense of paints. By 1935, he was working on films. Kurosawa displayed an interest in tackling stories with strong themes. His early film, “Ikuru” (1952), tells the story of a bureaucrat who finds he has 6 months to live. The irony is that he was more dead than alive before getting his diagnosis. Another early film “Rashomon” (1950), was even more controversial. In this film, Kurosawa depicts an episode of a robbery, murder, and rape. A bandit comes upon a couple traveling through the forest. He robs them, rapes the woman, and kills the man. The story is told in flashbacks from three perspectives—first the woman, then the bandit, and finally the ghost of the murdered man. Like Picasso’s infamous painting, Nudes Descending a Staircase or Einstein’s work with relativity, Kurosawa shows how the same phenomena can be viewed from different perspectives. “Rashomon” was a huge critical hit and won both the Grand Prix at the Venice Film Festival, and the American Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film. Even though the studios hadn’t wanted
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M. Stratton / The Arts in Psychotherapy 28 (2001) 103–108
to make the film, they eventually came around to attempt to take credit (Kurosawa, 1983). Other Kurosawa films are more familiar to the American public— his hit, “The Seven Samurai” (1954), was remade into the western “The Magnificent Seven.” “Yojimbo” (1961) became “A Fistful of Dollars” and more recently “The Last Man Standing.” Kurosawa created Japanese versions of Shakespeare’s MacBeth (“The Throne of Blood”, 1957) and King Lear (“Ran”, 1985). George Lucas has sited Akira Kurosawa’s film “The Hidden Fortress” (1958) as a primary influence on his film, “Star Wars.” Kurosawa’s film “High and Low” (1963) plays as a subtle mix of Dostoevsky and Hitchcock. At age 80 Kurosawa made a most personal film— “Akira Kurosawa’s Dreams” (1990)—a depiction of 8 of the most significant dreams he’d had in his life. In making this film, the octogenarian filmmaker stated, “When man dreams, he is a genius” (blurb attributed to Kurosawa on videotape cover). Kurosawa’s dreams reveal him more completely than does his own autobiography. Kurosawa’s film works as a kaleidoscope to view several different aspects of the phenomenon of dreaming. Engaging this perspective, not only does Kurosawa stand paradoxically both revealed and shrouded in exquisite mystery, we are able to also further explore our own lives through the viewing of the most primitive yet advanced aspects of ourselves— our dreams.
Sunshine Through the Rain In this first dream, Kurosawa is a little boy, perhaps 4 or 5 years old. It is raining. His mother emerges from the house and says “You’re staying home. The sun is shining but it’s raining. Foxes hold their wedding processions in just this kind of weather. They don’t like to be seen. If they see you they’ll be very angry.” The boy goes out into the forest. Eventually he sees a mist, then a figure emerging from the mist, then several. Music begins to play. Even though they walk on two legs, it’s clear—it is the wedding procession of the foxes. The boy tries to hide behind a tree but the foxes are wary—they see him and he runs home. His mother is waiting for him at the gate. “You saw something you shouldn’t have. I can’t let you in now. An angry fox came looking for you. He left this.” She hands the boy a knife. “You’re supposed to kill yourself. Go quickly and apologize— give them the knife and tell them you’re sorry.” As she closes the door she says, “They don’t usually forgive. You must be ready to die.” The boy says, “I don’t know where they live.”
“You’ll find out,” says the mother. “On days like this there are always rainbows. The foxes live under the rainbows.” This dream ends with Kurosawa, the boy, walking out in fields of flowers, walking towards the rainbow.
How many ways can we look at this dream? Certainly, Freud would have been impressed by the Oedipal implications–from the viewing of the primal scene to castration anxiety. With Freud’s masterwork, “The Interpretation of Dreams,” he brought dream work into the realm of science (Freud, 1990). Freud saw dream interpretation as an essential element for self-analysis. Freud also viewed dreams through a perspective of ‘abnormal psychic phenomena’ along with obsessions, delusions, and hysterical phobias (Van De Castle, 1994, p. 128, 138). Even though Freud saw dreams as ‘the royal road to the unconscious’ (Borbely, 1986 p. 67), he also saw the unconscious through the perspective of pathology. According to Van De Castle (1994), Carl Jung, a disciple of Freud before a personal and professional split between the men, contributed several concepts in looking at dreams. On the one hand, he denied holding a specific theory on dreams, stating that one needed to take each dream on it’s own terms. On the other hand, Jung (1965) developed the concepts of archetypes, the shadow, and the collective unconscious, all of which may be lenses through which to view dreams. One key difference between Freud and Jung’s perspectives is that Freud believed that dream symbols were essentially in place to disguise the real intent of the dream, while Jung believed that symbols were meant to illuminate the true intent, albeit in metaphoric language (Van De Castle, 1994). Alfred Adler felt that one should interpret only the “headlines” of dreams, and thought that not remembering one’s dreams might be a sign of good mental health (Van De Castle, 1994, p. 178). A study of Holocaust survivors seems to support this claim. Kaminer and Lavie defined the level of how ‘well adjusted’ survivors felt and acted (Lavie, 1993, p.83). A high percentage (55%) of those who rated themselves as most ‘well adjusted’ remembered very few of their dreams, compared with those who had adjustment difficulties (33%) (Lavie, 1993, p. 83). A question that remains: is it a sign of being ‘well adjusted’ to not remember dreams, or are dreams informing us that there is work to address? According to Van De Castle (1994), Fritz Perls believed that the dream is a projection of rejected parts of the dreamer (much like Jung’s concept of the shadow). “The dream is an existential message to
M. Stratton / The Arts in Psychotherapy 28 (2001) 103–108
yourself” (p192). The focus of Perls was less on understanding, and more on the experience. Thomas Moore (1992) wrote “It is much better to let the dream interpret us rather than for us to become clever in interpreting the dream in ways most compatible with our existing ideas” (p. 292). James Hillman (1979) notes, “At night the dream has me, but in the morning I say, I had a dream” (p. 98). Looking over the different theories we may ask, “Which is correct?” Rather than selecting either/or dualistic choices, we may follow Kurosawa’s lead in making “Rashomon” and recognize there is more than one perspective to the phenomena of dreams. In “Sunshine Through The Rain,” the child Kurosawa writes a beautiful fable, a myth, a poem, that perfectly captures a time of his life, full of fears and mysteries and conflicts and wonder.
The Peach Orchard In this dream, Kurosawa is a boy, a few years older than the boy in the dream of the foxes. He is serving rice to his sisters and guests in their home. Porcelain figures in period costumes line the wall of his home—they represent his ancestors. The boy looks at his sister in puzzlement. “I thought there were six of you,” he says, looking to the six bowls of rice he has brought. There are only five at the table. As he serves, he notices the sixth girl in the hall. She only seems visible to him. The boy chases her into the peach orchard outside. The peach orchard is barren, as his family has cut it down. Suddenly the boy is confronted with life-sized versions of the porcelain dolls that had been in the house—and they are angry with his family for cutting down the peach orchard. The boy begins to cry and says he loved the garden. The dolls take pity on him and tell him they will show him the peach orchard in full bloom once more. They begin a dance; suddenly he is in the presence of blooming trees, the petals fall like snow. The boy sees the mysterious girl once again and begins to chase her, but now she disappears and the orchard is barren once again. This dreams ends with the boy standing in the presence of a single peach tree blossoming.
The death of Kurosawa’s sister resonates powerfully in this dream— however, just as Kurosawa reconciles with the history of the peach orchard, let us view a history of dreams. Dreams have been significant throughout history. In 3000 BC in ancient Mesopotamia, the stories of the hero Gilgamesh were the first written chronicles of sequential dreams by the same dreamer, thus the first recorded ‘dream journal.’ Egyptian priests were engaged in dream interpretation 4,000 years ago (Van
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De Castle, 1994, p. 48, 52). In the Book of Genesis in the Old Testament found in The Bible, King James Version (1995), there are over 30 references to dreams or dreaming. Joseph and his coat of many colors showed thousands of years before Freud that the interpretation of dreams could lead to a royal inheritance (as well as resolve family of origin issues!). Greeks were followers of dreams. Homer wrote of them in the Iliad and the Odyssey. Plato wrote volumes on dreams. Aristotle believed that dreams might indicate or diagnose physical ailments (Van De Castle, 1994, p. 64). The connection between spirituality and dreams is pronounced. Buddha’s mother had a dream of his immaculate conception, and many of the events of the birth and early years of Jesus were told through dreams. Muhammad was given his divine mission in a dream, and much of the Koran came to him in dreams (Van De Castle, 1994, p.39, 41) . During the ‘dark ages’, dreaming became dangerous - nightmares might indicate possession or witchery (Van De Castle, 1994, p. 81). After the Renaissance, there began a rekindling of interest in dreams, as there was in all of the arts. Numerous writers began to speculate on dreams before Freud’s work at the turn of the century.
The Blizzard As a grown man, Kurosawa is leading several climbers across the face of a mountain in the midst of a terrible blizzard. The men are tied together at the waist and Kurosawa is in the lead. Eventually the men begin to wear down, become discouraged, and lie down to fall asleep. Kurosawa tries to encourage them on, then attempts to awaken them, but finally he falls asleep himself, only to awaken to a ferocious woman—a snow woman from Japanese folk lore— who is attempting to place an icy blanket across him. As he sees her, she flies away. Now the blizzard has lifted and Kurosawa sees that camp is within easy reach. He awakens his men and they are safe.
The problem solving qualities of dreams are considerable. One suggestion for the progression of problem solving is as follows: first, the dream presents a conflict; next, there will be the attempted resolution; finally, the dream presents the unconscious solution. Often, the solution is rejected by the conscious mind, as it will appear to be giving up, surrender, or simply nonsensical. Yet, as Kurosawa gave in to his fears of inertia, becoming as frozen as his colleagues, and facing his fears and mythic demons, he is freed. J. Allen Hobson (1995) states that “There are
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three neuromodulators in the brain stem. They determine mood and memory, cognition and emotion. But they change during sleep. In REM sleep, your brain is being bathed in a totally different chemical bath” (p. 41). If dreams do aid learning and problem solving, they do so in a different way than occurs in waking consciousness. A colleague of mine told me of working on his dissertation. He was frustrated, as his data seemed to contradict his hypothesis. He set an appointment with his advisor, and that night dreamed that he saw, on his kitchen table, his completed dissertation–right down to the title and reconciling the paradox of his data (Miller, personal communication, 1994). This is not new. The scientists involved in the breakthroughs associated with the table of elements, insulin, the benzene molecule, and DNA, all credit dreams with assisting them in making the leap towards these discoveries (Van De Castle, 1994). The list of artistic works influenced by dreams is even longer. Artists such as Jasper Johns, Jean Depre, Henri Rousseau, and of course Salvadore Dali, all credit dreams as inspirations to specific paintings or sculptures. Robert Louis Stevenson, Jack Kerouac, William Burroughs, and Coleridge found inspiration for books or poems. There are examples of ‘dream inspired’ art to be found in every art form (Van De Castle, 1994, p. 11). Our dreams can be problem solvers. They can inform us, guide us, correct us, and organize us. As Aristotle suggested, dreams may have diagnostic capabilities.
The Tunnel In this dream, Kurosawa is “The Commander,” and is dressed in a Japanese uniform of WWII. He walks down a road in the country and approaches a dark tunnel. A growling dog, bathed in red light, emerges from the tunnel, then goes back into the darkness. Filled with dread, Kurosawa proceeds into the tunnel. He emerges unscathed on the other side, but knows he’s being followed. A soldier emerges from the tunnel behind him. Kurosawa recognizes him— this was a soldier in his command—a soldier who died in his arms. Kurosawa tells him that he is dead, and the soldier returns to the tunnel. Then Kurosawa hears a battalion of men marching out of the tunnel. He confronts them all, and tells them that he ordered them all into a battle where they died. Only he survived, but only as a prisoner—and he orders them back into the tunnel. Now the dog returns, bathed in red light, growling at Kurosawa.
A very basic way to interpret dreams is to describe them as pictures of feelings (Corriere & Hart, 1977). Though Kurosawa was never in the military,
could he have devised a more eloquent enactment of his own shame and guilt over his surviving the war? Or even surviving his own family after the death of two siblings? Even this is too simplistic, too flat and reductive. In a quote referring to poetry, that could also apply to dreams, Michigan poet and author Jim Harrison (1991) writes: “ Poetry at it’s best is the language your soul would speak if you could teach your soul to speak.” He also writes, “As a poet I am the bird, not the ornithologist. . . ” (p.294). Again, this seems true of the dreamer.
Crows A college aged Kurosawa is in an art gallery. He’s viewing the paintings of Van Gogh. As he views the painting “Bridge At Arles,” he enters the painting and is walking the landscape as if it were real. He finds himself carrying paintbrushes. He encounters Van Gogh himself (in the film played by the director, Martin Scorsese). Van Gogh asks Kurosawa, “Why aren’t you painting?” Van Gogh describes his need to paint, and describes himself as a locomotive. “A beautiful scene does not make a painting!” Van Gogh collects his easel, paints and brushes and hurries off. Kurosawa hurries after him, but finds himself walking through landscapes that now become paintings themselves (an inspiration for the movie, “What Dreams May Come”). The sky fills with crows. As a student of painting, Kurosawa (1983) stated: After looking at a monograph on Cezanne, I would step outside and the houses, streets, and trees— everything—looked like a Cezanne painting. The same thing would happen when I looked at a book of Van Gogh’s paintings. . . they changed the way the real world looked to me.
Just as the artist changes the perspective of the viewer, so does the dream shift the perspective of the dreamer. Consider narrative theory—viewing a client’s story, or our own, as a rich novel as opposed to a patchwork of pathology. Imagine for a moment if the same story—perhaps your own, were told by different authors: Maya Angelou, or Stephen King, Jerzy Kozinski, or Charles Dickens. What if the same film script, say “Gone With the Wind,” were reshot by different directors? Steven Spielberg? Spike Lee? The Coen brothers? A shift in perspective, whether considering our own story, or using the lens of a work of art or even the art we produce at night— our dreams— can offer us a cornucopia of options for perception.
M. Stratton / The Arts in Psychotherapy 28 (2001) 103–108
Mt. Fuji in Red In this dream, an adult Kurosawa walks amid a mob. Mt. Fuji is erupting. Four nuclear reactors have exploded. Throngs are running in panic. Suddenly, there is only Kurosawa, a young mother and her 2 children, and a businessman, standing at the side of a cliff near the ocean. Kurosawa asks, “Where did they go?” “To the bottom of the sea,” says the businessman. He begins to explain to Kurosawa the different colors of the clouds of radiation, and the effects they will have on him. After the businessman throws himself into the sea, the dream ends with Kurosawa trying to protect himself, the young mother and the children from the poisonous gas by waving his jacket at the purple clouds of poisonous radioactive gas.
Another helpful way to view dreams is that we are all parts of our dreams. Using this tool we see that: Kurosawa is Mount Fuji in red, about to blow Kurosawa is the multitudes, running in panic Kurosawa is the business man Kurosawa is the mother protecting her children Kurosawa is the children, terrified and helpless Kurosawa is the sea Kurosawa, finally, is Kurosawa A technique developed by a colleague of mine, calls for the dreamer to view a dream from the perspective of that part of the dream which is particularly upsetting. Using this technique can be particularly helpful in working with individuals who have had recurring, upsetting dreams (Frankforter, personal communication, 1996).
The Weeping Demon Kurosawa is walking in a wasteland. There are hills, but the ground is as gray as ash. He comes upon a demon with a horn growing out of his head. The demon says that he used to be human. He also says that the wasteland used to be a beautiful field of flowers, “. . . then, the nuclear missiles. . . ” We see giant mutated dandelions, the size of trees, and the demon enumerates the monstrosities of this landscape: “A two faced rabbit, a hairy fish.” “What do you eat?” asks Kurosawa. “There is no food! We feed on ourselves!” Kurosawa hears other moans, and the demon explains, “At night, the famous demons cry out. Their horns hurt worse than cancer. Come, I’ll show you.” The demon leads Kurosawa to watch a group of demons gathered around blood-red pools of water. They weep and cry in agony. The demon says that now his horn is beginning
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to hurt. He then asks Kurosawa, “Do you want to become a demon, too?” This dream ends with Kurosawa chased down the mountain by the demon, moving in slow motion.
Many Native American tribes have documented their understanding of the power of dreams (Corriere & Hart, 1977; Castanada, 1972). The dream image is an ally or a spirit guide. Viewed this way, the nightmare is a great image. An ally of terrible power has visited with an important message. The message must be important, why else send such a strong spirit? The underlying message of the Native American perspective is to “live with,” within harmony of the dream, an understanding of the cycle of life, and the relationship between the dreamer and the spirit world. “Learn to control your dreams,” which is the emphasis of much dream work, would be the antithesis of Native American understanding of dreams. In the book, The Road to Ixtlan, Carlos Castanada (1972) meets the Yaqui Indian sorcerer, Don Juan. Don Juan tells him, “A warrior is a man who seeks power, and one of the avenues to power is dreaming. . . although he doesn’t call them dreams, he calls them real” (p. 118). The nightmare image may be the personification of Carl Jung’s (1965) ‘shadow’—all those parts of ourselves that we have chosen to disown. Dreams don’t let us. Village of the Water Wheels Kurosawa comes upon a natural utopia—a village where people live in harmony with one another and with nature. He meets an old man who explains the workings of the village to him. Kurosawa asks the old man about electricity, who says that there is no electricity. “What about the night,” asks Kurosawa, “isn’t it dark?” “Yes,” says the old man, “that’s what night is supposed to be”. At the end of the dream there is a joyous funeral procession—an elder in the village is about to die— and Kurosawa joins the parade at the head—a parade that contains children and dancing and a brass band.
It is difficult not to contrast this last image— Kurosawa in the parade celebrating a funeral, with the image of Kurosawa the boy hiding from the procession of the foxes. Now he is celebrating in a parade, dancing a dance of life and death. A dance that we dance, even now. Kurosawa died at age 88 At my home in Michigan, there is a tree in my front yard that blossoms in the spring, an explosion of
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fragrant tiny white petals; green leaves offer shade in the summer; in the fall there is a spectacular tapestry of yellows and browns; and, in the dead of winter, the tree blossoms once more— bright red berries against the Michigan snow. Kurosawa offered a rich blossoming of creativity, throughout his entire life span. By sharing his dreams with us, Kurosawa invites us to join this blossoming, and dance in this parade. The Michigan poet, Jim Harrison (1991) wrote: I continue to dream myself back to what I lost, and continue to lose and regain, to an earth where I am a fellow creature and to a landscape I call home. When I return I can offer my family, my writing, my friends, a portion of the gift I’ve been given by seeking it out, consciously or unconsciously. The mystery is still there (p. 317–18).
References Borbely, A. (1986). Secrets of sleep. Stuttgart, Germany: Basic Books. Castaneda, C. (1972). Journey to Ixtlan (the lessons of Don Juan). New York, NY: Simon & Shuster.
Colt, G. H. (1995). The power of dreams. Life Magazine, 18 (11), 36 – 49. Corriere, R., & Hart, J. (1977). The dreammakers. New York, NY: Bantam Books. Freud, S. (1965). The interpretation of dreams (13th ed.). New York, NY: Avon Books. Harrison, J. (1991). Just before dark (collected non-fiction). New York, NY: Houghton Mifflin, Seymour Lawrence. Hillman, J. (1979). The dream and the underworld. New York, NY: Harper & Row. Jung, C. (1965). Memories, dreams, reflections. New York, NY: Vantage Books. Kurosawa, A. (1982). Something like an autobiography. New York, NY: Vintage Books. Lavie, P. (1996). The enchanted world of sleep. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Moore, T. (1992). Care of the soul. New York, NY: Harper Collins. Richie, D. (1996). The films of Akira Kurosawa. Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press. Stratton, M. (2000). Dream perspectives (audiotape). East Lansing, MI: [email protected]. Van De Castle, R. (1994). Our dreaming mind. New York, NY: Ballantine Books. The Bible, King James version; a multimedia experience (1995) (CD-ROM). Irvine, CA: World Library, Inc.
Akira Kurosawa’s dreams: creating an unconscious autobiography Michael Stratton, MSW, ACSW* 790 W. Lake Lansing Road, #300, East Lansing, MI 48823, USA
Introduction This paper explores a film of Akira Kurosawa’s that depicts representations of significant dreams he had during the course of his life. The author uses each episode as a separate prism to view perspectives of working with, and appreciating, dreams. At age 80, the Japanese filmmaker Akira Kurosawa filmed representations of eight significant dreams he’d had during the course of his life. In creating the film, “Akira Kurosawa’s Dreams,” he revealed himself more fully than he did in his own autobiography. Each dream can be used to view a different perspective of dreams and working with dreams— our own, and our clients—to help us enrich our understanding of the mystery and the power that lies within and beyond our dreams. The relation between dreaming and films is parallel in this sense: perhaps dreams mean to the individual what films mean to the society (Stratton, 2000). Some creative artifact that spins a new perspective, sometimes enlightening, sometimes depicting, other times obscuring a specific issue or dynamic. In an effort to avoid reductive thinking, this article will focus on dream appreciation rather than dream interpretation. So much of the focus on dream work has been to understand their meaning, leaving us with simplistic answers for symbols that may have many layers and resonate in different ways in response to different tones. Akira Kurosawa was born in Tokyo in 1910. His early life was significantly shaped by two losses— his
* E-mail address: [email protected] (M. Stratton).
sister’s death when he was in the 4th grade and his brother’s suicide when Akira was 23 (Kurosawa, 1983). Though his family had a samurai’s bloodline (Richie, 1996), Kurosawa was turned down by the military (Kurosawa, 1983). An artist at an early age, Kurosawa displayed talents in painting and a strong interest in literature. One of his early paintings was displayed at the prestigious Nitten Exhibition, when he was 18 (Kurosawa, 1983). The cost of paints and canvas proved to be expensive, so Kurosawa looked for a job and applied to become an assistant director for a filmmaker—a job he found in the classified section of a newspaper. Perhaps the only time a painter turned to the medium of film because of the expense of paints. By 1935, he was working on films. Kurosawa displayed an interest in tackling stories with strong themes. His early film, “Ikuru” (1952), tells the story of a bureaucrat who finds he has 6 months to live. The irony is that he was more dead than alive before getting his diagnosis. Another early film “Rashomon” (1950), was even more controversial. In this film, Kurosawa depicts an episode of a robbery, murder, and rape. A bandit comes upon a couple traveling through the forest. He robs them, rapes the woman, and kills the man. The story is told in flashbacks from three perspectives—first the woman, then the bandit, and finally the ghost of the murdered man. Like Picasso’s infamous painting, Nudes Descending a Staircase or Einstein’s work with relativity, Kurosawa shows how the same phenomena can be viewed from different perspectives. “Rashomon” was a huge critical hit and won both the Grand Prix at the Venice Film Festival, and the American Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film. Even though the studios hadn’t wanted
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to make the film, they eventually came around to attempt to take credit (Kurosawa, 1983). Other Kurosawa films are more familiar to the American public— his hit, “The Seven Samurai” (1954), was remade into the western “The Magnificent Seven.” “Yojimbo” (1961) became “A Fistful of Dollars” and more recently “The Last Man Standing.” Kurosawa created Japanese versions of Shakespeare’s MacBeth (“The Throne of Blood”, 1957) and King Lear (“Ran”, 1985). George Lucas has sited Akira Kurosawa’s film “The Hidden Fortress” (1958) as a primary influence on his film, “Star Wars.” Kurosawa’s film “High and Low” (1963) plays as a subtle mix of Dostoevsky and Hitchcock. At age 80 Kurosawa made a most personal film— “Akira Kurosawa’s Dreams” (1990)—a depiction of 8 of the most significant dreams he’d had in his life. In making this film, the octogenarian filmmaker stated, “When man dreams, he is a genius” (blurb attributed to Kurosawa on videotape cover). Kurosawa’s dreams reveal him more completely than does his own autobiography. Kurosawa’s film works as a kaleidoscope to view several different aspects of the phenomenon of dreaming. Engaging this perspective, not only does Kurosawa stand paradoxically both revealed and shrouded in exquisite mystery, we are able to also further explore our own lives through the viewing of the most primitive yet advanced aspects of ourselves— our dreams.
Sunshine Through the Rain In this first dream, Kurosawa is a little boy, perhaps 4 or 5 years old. It is raining. His mother emerges from the house and says “You’re staying home. The sun is shining but it’s raining. Foxes hold their wedding processions in just this kind of weather. They don’t like to be seen. If they see you they’ll be very angry.” The boy goes out into the forest. Eventually he sees a mist, then a figure emerging from the mist, then several. Music begins to play. Even though they walk on two legs, it’s clear—it is the wedding procession of the foxes. The boy tries to hide behind a tree but the foxes are wary—they see him and he runs home. His mother is waiting for him at the gate. “You saw something you shouldn’t have. I can’t let you in now. An angry fox came looking for you. He left this.” She hands the boy a knife. “You’re supposed to kill yourself. Go quickly and apologize— give them the knife and tell them you’re sorry.” As she closes the door she says, “They don’t usually forgive. You must be ready to die.” The boy says, “I don’t know where they live.”
“You’ll find out,” says the mother. “On days like this there are always rainbows. The foxes live under the rainbows.” This dream ends with Kurosawa, the boy, walking out in fields of flowers, walking towards the rainbow.
How many ways can we look at this dream? Certainly, Freud would have been impressed by the Oedipal implications–from the viewing of the primal scene to castration anxiety. With Freud’s masterwork, “The Interpretation of Dreams,” he brought dream work into the realm of science (Freud, 1990). Freud saw dream interpretation as an essential element for self-analysis. Freud also viewed dreams through a perspective of ‘abnormal psychic phenomena’ along with obsessions, delusions, and hysterical phobias (Van De Castle, 1994, p. 128, 138). Even though Freud saw dreams as ‘the royal road to the unconscious’ (Borbely, 1986 p. 67), he also saw the unconscious through the perspective of pathology. According to Van De Castle (1994), Carl Jung, a disciple of Freud before a personal and professional split between the men, contributed several concepts in looking at dreams. On the one hand, he denied holding a specific theory on dreams, stating that one needed to take each dream on it’s own terms. On the other hand, Jung (1965) developed the concepts of archetypes, the shadow, and the collective unconscious, all of which may be lenses through which to view dreams. One key difference between Freud and Jung’s perspectives is that Freud believed that dream symbols were essentially in place to disguise the real intent of the dream, while Jung believed that symbols were meant to illuminate the true intent, albeit in metaphoric language (Van De Castle, 1994). Alfred Adler felt that one should interpret only the “headlines” of dreams, and thought that not remembering one’s dreams might be a sign of good mental health (Van De Castle, 1994, p. 178). A study of Holocaust survivors seems to support this claim. Kaminer and Lavie defined the level of how ‘well adjusted’ survivors felt and acted (Lavie, 1993, p.83). A high percentage (55%) of those who rated themselves as most ‘well adjusted’ remembered very few of their dreams, compared with those who had adjustment difficulties (33%) (Lavie, 1993, p. 83). A question that remains: is it a sign of being ‘well adjusted’ to not remember dreams, or are dreams informing us that there is work to address? According to Van De Castle (1994), Fritz Perls believed that the dream is a projection of rejected parts of the dreamer (much like Jung’s concept of the shadow). “The dream is an existential message to
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yourself” (p192). The focus of Perls was less on understanding, and more on the experience. Thomas Moore (1992) wrote “It is much better to let the dream interpret us rather than for us to become clever in interpreting the dream in ways most compatible with our existing ideas” (p. 292). James Hillman (1979) notes, “At night the dream has me, but in the morning I say, I had a dream” (p. 98). Looking over the different theories we may ask, “Which is correct?” Rather than selecting either/or dualistic choices, we may follow Kurosawa’s lead in making “Rashomon” and recognize there is more than one perspective to the phenomena of dreams. In “Sunshine Through The Rain,” the child Kurosawa writes a beautiful fable, a myth, a poem, that perfectly captures a time of his life, full of fears and mysteries and conflicts and wonder.
The Peach Orchard In this dream, Kurosawa is a boy, a few years older than the boy in the dream of the foxes. He is serving rice to his sisters and guests in their home. Porcelain figures in period costumes line the wall of his home—they represent his ancestors. The boy looks at his sister in puzzlement. “I thought there were six of you,” he says, looking to the six bowls of rice he has brought. There are only five at the table. As he serves, he notices the sixth girl in the hall. She only seems visible to him. The boy chases her into the peach orchard outside. The peach orchard is barren, as his family has cut it down. Suddenly the boy is confronted with life-sized versions of the porcelain dolls that had been in the house—and they are angry with his family for cutting down the peach orchard. The boy begins to cry and says he loved the garden. The dolls take pity on him and tell him they will show him the peach orchard in full bloom once more. They begin a dance; suddenly he is in the presence of blooming trees, the petals fall like snow. The boy sees the mysterious girl once again and begins to chase her, but now she disappears and the orchard is barren once again. This dreams ends with the boy standing in the presence of a single peach tree blossoming.
The death of Kurosawa’s sister resonates powerfully in this dream— however, just as Kurosawa reconciles with the history of the peach orchard, let us view a history of dreams. Dreams have been significant throughout history. In 3000 BC in ancient Mesopotamia, the stories of the hero Gilgamesh were the first written chronicles of sequential dreams by the same dreamer, thus the first recorded ‘dream journal.’ Egyptian priests were engaged in dream interpretation 4,000 years ago (Van
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De Castle, 1994, p. 48, 52). In the Book of Genesis in the Old Testament found in The Bible, King James Version (1995), there are over 30 references to dreams or dreaming. Joseph and his coat of many colors showed thousands of years before Freud that the interpretation of dreams could lead to a royal inheritance (as well as resolve family of origin issues!). Greeks were followers of dreams. Homer wrote of them in the Iliad and the Odyssey. Plato wrote volumes on dreams. Aristotle believed that dreams might indicate or diagnose physical ailments (Van De Castle, 1994, p. 64). The connection between spirituality and dreams is pronounced. Buddha’s mother had a dream of his immaculate conception, and many of the events of the birth and early years of Jesus were told through dreams. Muhammad was given his divine mission in a dream, and much of the Koran came to him in dreams (Van De Castle, 1994, p.39, 41) . During the ‘dark ages’, dreaming became dangerous - nightmares might indicate possession or witchery (Van De Castle, 1994, p. 81). After the Renaissance, there began a rekindling of interest in dreams, as there was in all of the arts. Numerous writers began to speculate on dreams before Freud’s work at the turn of the century.
The Blizzard As a grown man, Kurosawa is leading several climbers across the face of a mountain in the midst of a terrible blizzard. The men are tied together at the waist and Kurosawa is in the lead. Eventually the men begin to wear down, become discouraged, and lie down to fall asleep. Kurosawa tries to encourage them on, then attempts to awaken them, but finally he falls asleep himself, only to awaken to a ferocious woman—a snow woman from Japanese folk lore— who is attempting to place an icy blanket across him. As he sees her, she flies away. Now the blizzard has lifted and Kurosawa sees that camp is within easy reach. He awakens his men and they are safe.
The problem solving qualities of dreams are considerable. One suggestion for the progression of problem solving is as follows: first, the dream presents a conflict; next, there will be the attempted resolution; finally, the dream presents the unconscious solution. Often, the solution is rejected by the conscious mind, as it will appear to be giving up, surrender, or simply nonsensical. Yet, as Kurosawa gave in to his fears of inertia, becoming as frozen as his colleagues, and facing his fears and mythic demons, he is freed. J. Allen Hobson (1995) states that “There are
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three neuromodulators in the brain stem. They determine mood and memory, cognition and emotion. But they change during sleep. In REM sleep, your brain is being bathed in a totally different chemical bath” (p. 41). If dreams do aid learning and problem solving, they do so in a different way than occurs in waking consciousness. A colleague of mine told me of working on his dissertation. He was frustrated, as his data seemed to contradict his hypothesis. He set an appointment with his advisor, and that night dreamed that he saw, on his kitchen table, his completed dissertation–right down to the title and reconciling the paradox of his data (Miller, personal communication, 1994). This is not new. The scientists involved in the breakthroughs associated with the table of elements, insulin, the benzene molecule, and DNA, all credit dreams with assisting them in making the leap towards these discoveries (Van De Castle, 1994). The list of artistic works influenced by dreams is even longer. Artists such as Jasper Johns, Jean Depre, Henri Rousseau, and of course Salvadore Dali, all credit dreams as inspirations to specific paintings or sculptures. Robert Louis Stevenson, Jack Kerouac, William Burroughs, and Coleridge found inspiration for books or poems. There are examples of ‘dream inspired’ art to be found in every art form (Van De Castle, 1994, p. 11). Our dreams can be problem solvers. They can inform us, guide us, correct us, and organize us. As Aristotle suggested, dreams may have diagnostic capabilities.
The Tunnel In this dream, Kurosawa is “The Commander,” and is dressed in a Japanese uniform of WWII. He walks down a road in the country and approaches a dark tunnel. A growling dog, bathed in red light, emerges from the tunnel, then goes back into the darkness. Filled with dread, Kurosawa proceeds into the tunnel. He emerges unscathed on the other side, but knows he’s being followed. A soldier emerges from the tunnel behind him. Kurosawa recognizes him— this was a soldier in his command—a soldier who died in his arms. Kurosawa tells him that he is dead, and the soldier returns to the tunnel. Then Kurosawa hears a battalion of men marching out of the tunnel. He confronts them all, and tells them that he ordered them all into a battle where they died. Only he survived, but only as a prisoner—and he orders them back into the tunnel. Now the dog returns, bathed in red light, growling at Kurosawa.
A very basic way to interpret dreams is to describe them as pictures of feelings (Corriere & Hart, 1977). Though Kurosawa was never in the military,
could he have devised a more eloquent enactment of his own shame and guilt over his surviving the war? Or even surviving his own family after the death of two siblings? Even this is too simplistic, too flat and reductive. In a quote referring to poetry, that could also apply to dreams, Michigan poet and author Jim Harrison (1991) writes: “ Poetry at it’s best is the language your soul would speak if you could teach your soul to speak.” He also writes, “As a poet I am the bird, not the ornithologist. . . ” (p.294). Again, this seems true of the dreamer.
Crows A college aged Kurosawa is in an art gallery. He’s viewing the paintings of Van Gogh. As he views the painting “Bridge At Arles,” he enters the painting and is walking the landscape as if it were real. He finds himself carrying paintbrushes. He encounters Van Gogh himself (in the film played by the director, Martin Scorsese). Van Gogh asks Kurosawa, “Why aren’t you painting?” Van Gogh describes his need to paint, and describes himself as a locomotive. “A beautiful scene does not make a painting!” Van Gogh collects his easel, paints and brushes and hurries off. Kurosawa hurries after him, but finds himself walking through landscapes that now become paintings themselves (an inspiration for the movie, “What Dreams May Come”). The sky fills with crows. As a student of painting, Kurosawa (1983) stated: After looking at a monograph on Cezanne, I would step outside and the houses, streets, and trees— everything—looked like a Cezanne painting. The same thing would happen when I looked at a book of Van Gogh’s paintings. . . they changed the way the real world looked to me.
Just as the artist changes the perspective of the viewer, so does the dream shift the perspective of the dreamer. Consider narrative theory—viewing a client’s story, or our own, as a rich novel as opposed to a patchwork of pathology. Imagine for a moment if the same story—perhaps your own, were told by different authors: Maya Angelou, or Stephen King, Jerzy Kozinski, or Charles Dickens. What if the same film script, say “Gone With the Wind,” were reshot by different directors? Steven Spielberg? Spike Lee? The Coen brothers? A shift in perspective, whether considering our own story, or using the lens of a work of art or even the art we produce at night— our dreams— can offer us a cornucopia of options for perception.
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Mt. Fuji in Red In this dream, an adult Kurosawa walks amid a mob. Mt. Fuji is erupting. Four nuclear reactors have exploded. Throngs are running in panic. Suddenly, there is only Kurosawa, a young mother and her 2 children, and a businessman, standing at the side of a cliff near the ocean. Kurosawa asks, “Where did they go?” “To the bottom of the sea,” says the businessman. He begins to explain to Kurosawa the different colors of the clouds of radiation, and the effects they will have on him. After the businessman throws himself into the sea, the dream ends with Kurosawa trying to protect himself, the young mother and the children from the poisonous gas by waving his jacket at the purple clouds of poisonous radioactive gas.
Another helpful way to view dreams is that we are all parts of our dreams. Using this tool we see that: Kurosawa is Mount Fuji in red, about to blow Kurosawa is the multitudes, running in panic Kurosawa is the business man Kurosawa is the mother protecting her children Kurosawa is the children, terrified and helpless Kurosawa is the sea Kurosawa, finally, is Kurosawa A technique developed by a colleague of mine, calls for the dreamer to view a dream from the perspective of that part of the dream which is particularly upsetting. Using this technique can be particularly helpful in working with individuals who have had recurring, upsetting dreams (Frankforter, personal communication, 1996).
The Weeping Demon Kurosawa is walking in a wasteland. There are hills, but the ground is as gray as ash. He comes upon a demon with a horn growing out of his head. The demon says that he used to be human. He also says that the wasteland used to be a beautiful field of flowers, “. . . then, the nuclear missiles. . . ” We see giant mutated dandelions, the size of trees, and the demon enumerates the monstrosities of this landscape: “A two faced rabbit, a hairy fish.” “What do you eat?” asks Kurosawa. “There is no food! We feed on ourselves!” Kurosawa hears other moans, and the demon explains, “At night, the famous demons cry out. Their horns hurt worse than cancer. Come, I’ll show you.” The demon leads Kurosawa to watch a group of demons gathered around blood-red pools of water. They weep and cry in agony. The demon says that now his horn is beginning
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to hurt. He then asks Kurosawa, “Do you want to become a demon, too?” This dream ends with Kurosawa chased down the mountain by the demon, moving in slow motion.
Many Native American tribes have documented their understanding of the power of dreams (Corriere & Hart, 1977; Castanada, 1972). The dream image is an ally or a spirit guide. Viewed this way, the nightmare is a great image. An ally of terrible power has visited with an important message. The message must be important, why else send such a strong spirit? The underlying message of the Native American perspective is to “live with,” within harmony of the dream, an understanding of the cycle of life, and the relationship between the dreamer and the spirit world. “Learn to control your dreams,” which is the emphasis of much dream work, would be the antithesis of Native American understanding of dreams. In the book, The Road to Ixtlan, Carlos Castanada (1972) meets the Yaqui Indian sorcerer, Don Juan. Don Juan tells him, “A warrior is a man who seeks power, and one of the avenues to power is dreaming. . . although he doesn’t call them dreams, he calls them real” (p. 118). The nightmare image may be the personification of Carl Jung’s (1965) ‘shadow’—all those parts of ourselves that we have chosen to disown. Dreams don’t let us. Village of the Water Wheels Kurosawa comes upon a natural utopia—a village where people live in harmony with one another and with nature. He meets an old man who explains the workings of the village to him. Kurosawa asks the old man about electricity, who says that there is no electricity. “What about the night,” asks Kurosawa, “isn’t it dark?” “Yes,” says the old man, “that’s what night is supposed to be”. At the end of the dream there is a joyous funeral procession—an elder in the village is about to die— and Kurosawa joins the parade at the head—a parade that contains children and dancing and a brass band.
It is difficult not to contrast this last image— Kurosawa in the parade celebrating a funeral, with the image of Kurosawa the boy hiding from the procession of the foxes. Now he is celebrating in a parade, dancing a dance of life and death. A dance that we dance, even now. Kurosawa died at age 88 At my home in Michigan, there is a tree in my front yard that blossoms in the spring, an explosion of
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fragrant tiny white petals; green leaves offer shade in the summer; in the fall there is a spectacular tapestry of yellows and browns; and, in the dead of winter, the tree blossoms once more— bright red berries against the Michigan snow. Kurosawa offered a rich blossoming of creativity, throughout his entire life span. By sharing his dreams with us, Kurosawa invites us to join this blossoming, and dance in this parade. The Michigan poet, Jim Harrison (1991) wrote: I continue to dream myself back to what I lost, and continue to lose and regain, to an earth where I am a fellow creature and to a landscape I call home. When I return I can offer my family, my writing, my friends, a portion of the gift I’ve been given by seeking it out, consciously or unconsciously. The mystery is still there (p. 317–18).
References Borbely, A. (1986). Secrets of sleep. Stuttgart, Germany: Basic Books. Castaneda, C. (1972). Journey to Ixtlan (the lessons of Don Juan). New York, NY: Simon & Shuster.
Colt, G. H. (1995). The power of dreams. Life Magazine, 18 (11), 36 – 49. Corriere, R., & Hart, J. (1977). The dreammakers. New York, NY: Bantam Books. Freud, S. (1965). The interpretation of dreams (13th ed.). New York, NY: Avon Books. Harrison, J. (1991). Just before dark (collected non-fiction). New York, NY: Houghton Mifflin, Seymour Lawrence. Hillman, J. (1979). The dream and the underworld. New York, NY: Harper & Row. Jung, C. (1965). Memories, dreams, reflections. New York, NY: Vantage Books. Kurosawa, A. (1982). Something like an autobiography. New York, NY: Vintage Books. Lavie, P. (1996). The enchanted world of sleep. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Moore, T. (1992). Care of the soul. New York, NY: Harper Collins. Richie, D. (1996). The films of Akira Kurosawa. Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press. Stratton, M. (2000). Dream perspectives (audiotape). East Lansing, MI: [email protected]. Van De Castle, R. (1994). Our dreaming mind. New York, NY: Ballantine Books. The Bible, King James version; a multimedia experience (1995) (CD-ROM). Irvine, CA: World Library, Inc.