the yellow handkerchief

Writers often take comfort in the old adage "It's not the story, but how you tell it." Meaning even if an idea isn't all that original, one's unique storytelling style can still win the day. Director Yoji Yamada's The Yellow Handkerchief (1977) is adapted from a story by New York Post columnist Pete Hamill, later reprinted in Readers Digest, turned into a short film starring James Earl Jones and (according to IMDB) no less than three other theatrical and TV versions. But the story behind the story of a newly released ex-con who travels across the country to be reunited with his wife had been passed down in some way, shape or form for decades before, even inspiring the hit Tony Orlando and Dawn song Tie a Yellow Ribbon.

Yamada's take combines the best elements of a traditional road movie, lighthearted comedy and serious drama. And even though there's a roadmap of material to work with, the film is pleasantly unpredictable, taking its characters - and the audience - on a scenic trip in which the journey is an essential part of their destination.

After being dumped by his girlfriend, Kinya (Tetsuya Takeda) quits his job, spends all his savings on a new car and hops a ferry to Hokkaido hoping reinvent himself as ruthless ladies man. The first girl to accept a ride is Akemi (Kaori Mamoi), coming off a devastating break-up of her own, and unsure how to go about clearing her head. The third member of their party is Yusaku (Ken Takakura), a tight-lipped traveler whose final destination seems sketchy at best.

Desperate to hook up with Akemi, Kinya makes several clumsy and unsuccessful attempts to get her in the sack, but she's more intrigued by Yusaku's mysteriously tragic demeanor. And as the road trip stretches on, his story takes center stage. After spending six years in prison for murder, Yusaku is nervously returning to his hometown to see if his wife will take him back. The signal for her forgiveness: a yellow handkerchief tied to a flagpole atop their home. Eventually, the quest to reunite the couple becomes a shared goal that unexpectedly unites them all.

So much happens between the lines here that a cursory summary is almost insulting. There is such a depth of human emotion shared between these three unlikely traveling companions that Yamada's trick of pulling it off without coming across as coarse or manipulative is magical in retrospect. The miles just fly by. And by the time Yusaku's journey is complete, this is one tearjerker that earns every drop.

Part of the trick is Yamada's subtle way of slipping in the details: Yusaku's first beer after being released from prison, Kinya's sloppy techniques of seduction and Akemi's almost schizophrenic reaction to his affection. This is a film holds its secrets close to its chest and makes each reveal meaningful. But Yamada's technique, which flashes back and forth through time without fanfare, relies heavily on the restrained performance of Ken Takakura. His stoic, brooding persona is the perfect vessel to hide a fragile and heartbroken ex-thug hoping to make amends. The Yellow Handkerchief was practically unseen by U.S. audiences at the time of release. It's time we all make amends for that now.

Twilight Time's 3000-copy limited edition Blu-ray, besides offering a surprisingly sharp hi-def transfer (Japanese films of this era are in notoriously rough shape), includes Julie Kirgo's well-researched liner notes.