ASSIGNMENT I

PSY 202: QUALITATIVE RESEARCH

MARIYAH ZUBAIR KHAN

SEM-II

YEAR I

DEPARTMENT OF PSYCHOLOGY

UNIVERSITY OF DELHI
What is ‘Truth’?

Rashomon, a great Akira Kurosawa film that debuted in 1950, has become a shorthand for the

falsehood of objective truth—what you see, in essence, depends on where you stand. Akira

Kurosawa co-wrote and directed the film, an expressionist parable about how messed up

individuals can be. In Rashomon, Akira Kurosawa's philosophical narrative with enduring

significance, truth is found between lines of evidence. The film takes the form of an existential

conundrum with no solution, employing unreliable narrators and flashbacks that make memory

and reality doubtful.

Rashomon's tone is established from the very first frame of the film. It is built not via words or

personalities but through the weather. The gloomy tone of the majority of the picture is set right

away. When the priest's faith in humanity is restored at the end of the film, the rain stops, and the

sad tone gives way to buoyant hope.

Kurosawa seemed to be asking the audience to reach their conclusions about what is true and

what is not about the plot throughout the film. As viewers, we are given the creative freedom to

construct our interpretations of the film's meaning, where interpretations are a matter of

subjectivity. A story within a story within a story makes up the narrative. The spectator is already

ensnared in a maze of truth and deception by looking at this construction.

One of the most exciting aspects of the story, for me, was how it plays with character

perspectives. Throughout the film, we witness the same occurrence occur repeatedly, but from

the perspectives of various persons involved in the incident. Of course, each of their accounts
contradicts the others, making it impossible to determine which is the truest. Finally, the

Woodcutter, who began the narrative by reciting it, gives his viewpoint on what happened,

claiming that he witnessed it with his own eyes. However, by that point, the audience has lost all

faith in the characters and has no idea what is genuine and not, particularly from the story's

characters. So, maybe, our truth is our truth alone and somebody else may have a different

interpretation of reality.

According to me, the story highlights that objective truth can be muddled by subjective reality.

Kurosawa uses a simple strategy to put the viewers in this position. During the trial scenes,

Kurosawa positions the camera squarely in front of the witnesses. They tell their versions of the

events through flashbacks, precisely where the magistrate would be seated. In effect, he is

putting the audience in the position of a judge. The open-air court's judges and jury are never

visible.

All of the characters face the camera throughout their confession scenes, giving the impression

that they are confessing to us, the viewer. However, if we look closely, we can see that they are

seated in a large shadow, possibly implying that they may not be telling us the whole truth.

Kurosawa also left the ending vague, emphasizing the film's central concept. Rashomon is a

brilliant demonstration of how cinema deceives us. Instead, it does not tell us the whole truth and

how human beings are difficult to categorize because categories themselves, are products of the

human mind.
During one scene, the Woodcutter is out for a walk in the woods. Through the tall trees, the sun

is hardly apparent. This foray into the woods appears to be a metaphor for the human soul, where

nothing is guaranteed. People can quickly become lost in a wilderness, and they can also become

lost within their souls. Kurosawa's use of light and shadow throughout the film reinforces this.

We take what we see on screen as a fact as moviegoers, but because the story of Rashomon is

portrayed in so many different ways, we never know what to believe.

Finally, just when all hope for the human soul has vanished, an abandoned baby is discovered at

the back of the house. The priest and the Woodcutter are left in silence after the man who came

to the gate at the beginning of the film leaves after correctly accusing the Woodcutter of stealing

a precious dagger from the crime scene. Kurosawa employs several fades to represent the

passage of time. The men have spent a significant time in silence after the final fade. Finally, the

Woodcutter decides to take the infant to atone for his sins, restoring the priest's confidence in the

human soul. Kurosawa leaves the audience with a ray of hope. After all, man can redeem

himself.

The loss of control is the central mystery in practically every description of the encounter here.

Was the samurai's wife so enthralling to the bandit that he ravaged her? Could she have been so

smitten with the bandit that she had him murder her husband before fleeing with him? It is not

only that anything may happen in this film. It is all true. That is the source of its extended

longevity.
Moreover, the question of what is true has lingered over Rashomon. Is it ever possible to get a

steady, square truth from four sides of a story? Or do you always end up with something strange

and uneven, like a rhombus?

Despite being set in the past, Rashomon's theme is universal, exploring the subtleties of the

human soul. Rashomon's nonlinear narrative structure has no resolution to its circular

conundrum, which makes it unique among its fans. The audience is never informed of the court's

decision. Was the wife or the bandit — or both — found guilty, or was the case dismissed? There

is no truth in the film, no explanations given to the audience, simply a feeling of hope.

On a larger scale that accentuates the narrative and thematic throughlines' profound

intertextuality, Kurosawa's picture calls into question the fundamental nature of the cinematic

medium. The film exists as fact because, more than any other sense, sight is the most powerful.

The saying "It must be seen to be believed" applies to a variety of heartily arguable belief

systems, including religious skepticism and certainty in the existence of extraterrestrials, and the

film remains so powerful because it uses the power of sight to transform the reality of vision into

an escape. Rashomon calls the cinema's visual power-as-truth into question and gives the

spectator a hand in deciding which testimonial is accurate.

The film indicates that humans cannot be trusted, that truth is relative, and that only subjective

interpretation occurs through truth twisting. "Men are just men," the peasant says. "They cannot

even tell the truth to each other." "It is because guys are so weak," the priest confirms. That is

why they deceive you. As a result, they have to deceive themselves." In essence, Kurosawa
reminds us that only the reality we construct for ourselves exists. Despite being a representation

of the relative nature of reality, Rashomon is immensely approachable and enjoyable in its

investigation of this concept, transcending nationalistic borders and finding a way of optimism

even within a devastating topic of despair. Rashomon is a compelling film because of how it

accepts a reality devoid of universal truths while still finding meaning in the most poetic and

fundamental of sources.

One may appreciate Guru Dutt's love and care for his wife, Geeta, through his letters to her, as

well as their passionate and turbulent relationship. Reading the letters, the reader learns to see up

close the damaged mind of this great filmmaker and feels almost bad for invading the couple's

privacy.

I read the letters as if they were a bittersweet love story, and I couldn't help but wonder what

could have been. Both of them were extraordinarily talented in their fields, yet they died at such

a young age and in such an unhappy state. I came away with a couple of reflections of my own

as well:

(1) Although Geeta was his true love, Guru Dutt did not feel comfortable in his relationship for a

variety of reasons (legitimate or not). It's possible that a lot of it had to do with the fact that he

felt unworthy of her from the start;

(2) He had lived his entire adult life with self-doubt and a paralyzing fear of failure.
(3) Admittedly, his work took precedence, possibly at the expense of his personal or professional

relationships, such as his spouse and family. He could have done more for his cause if he had

first established some sort of security in his personal life. It would have provided him with the

much-needed positive reinforcement he need for his own survival and well-being.

Overall, these messages appear to be driven by a strong rage tinged with despair and self-doubt

in general.