I wish that all films about revenge were as layered and poetic as this one. From the very beginning, in the prologue we the struggle between brutality and mercy, and throughout the film there is a tension between seeking revenge and forgiveness. There are elements of Christianity in the latter, such as the washing of feet of the healer woman and a monk's pledge to give her his own shoes in tale two, followed by his stopping an attempt at revenge with the imprecation "Man must not kill man." There are also elements of Taoism, such as the poet's desire to return to nothingness in the prologue, as well as strong Buddhist overtones in that fantastic conversation in the rain in tale four, which had these lines:
"Man is like a reed flute on which someone plays a melody. ... There is no truth to be found hidden in the word 'I'. ... We are two passing illusions, two dreams that no one will remember."
There are times when the thirst for revenge can simply end, such as when the father of the murdered child dies himself, but the film shows how hard this can be. Like the disease that is passed on to the son, so too, the cycle of vengeance propagates, despite the burden it represents to the living, and while the ghosts of the past look on. It's in the spiritual characters, those willing to do good work without payment or to atone for the sins of others, or in the promise of love, such as that offered by the Romanian woman in tale five, that counterbalance these destructive desires. How wonderful it was that the buildup to revenge over decades didn't lead to some grand Tarantino-esque butchery; ultimately the killer is destroyed by drinking which came out of fear (in turn spurred by his conscience), and the revenge fizzles out anticlimactically.
Be forewarned that despite its philosophical and visual beauty, there are a couple of instances of cruelty to animals in the film, the first a dog attacking an injured goose, and the second, a rat tormented by children, then doused with gasoline and set on fire (the latter of which may have been done with an effect, I can only hope).
The film ends with two elderly women talking about children and life while walking along the seashore at sunset, an enigmatic, lyrical scene that Andrei Tarkovsky would have been proud of. In it are these lines:
"Children are given to us to further entangle us in the nets of destiny."
"No, it's so that love may flourish on earth."
Despite the cruelty of children in youth, despite them growing up to be cruel adults like the emperor, despite them learning of grudges and carrying them forward - despite all of those things - the purity of love between parent and child, the fresh slate of a baby's innocence, and the potential wellspring of good in each child represents our only hope, if only children can be educated by someone creative, wise, and forgiving.
