What does Rashomon mean?

In the classic film The Princess Bride, the character played by Wallace Shawn keeps using the word, “Inconceivable!”  After several instances his compatriot, played by Mandy Patinkin, says, “I do not think that word means what you think it means.”  That’s the way it is with language; a word enters the language meaning one thing, and then morphs into something else.  The word ironic used to mean one thing, then a hit song came out and suddenly it is a synonym for coincidence.

 I watched the classic 1950 film Rashomon the other day; not for any particular reason, it was just on TCM overnight and I decided to put it on my DVR.  I had of course seen the film before (according to Netflix I returned the disc in 2004, and I had seen it in revival houses at least twice before that).  Something always bothered me about the film, and this time I finally figured out what it was: Rashomon is not an example of a Rashomon-like plot.

When something is described as having a “Rashomon-like plot” we know what it means—scenes will be replayed from different character perspectives, and the reality of the scene will be subtly altered. The best example I can think of is an episode of The Dick Van Dyke show called The Night the Roof Fell In, written by John Whedon (grandfather of Joss Whedon; wow!).  In that episode Rob comes home late from work and he and Laura fight, except that from Rob’s perspective he’s gracious and charming and Laura is a nag, while Laura sees Rob as inconsiderate and oaf-ish while she is a saint.  The goldfish in the living room (who are never seen again in the series) see the whole thing objectively.

In this example, no one’s version of the facts differs greatly, only their interpretation.  Yes, in Rob’s version he avoids the famous trip over the ottoman and in Laura’s he takes a pratfall, but it is mostly about line reading.  The characters say the same lines, but just with different inflections.

The thing is, this is NOT what happens in Rashomon.  Rashomon tells the story of a death that takes place in a forest in medieval Japan.  There are three witnesses at the trial.  The first is the thief who admits he attacked the husband, tied him up, seduced the wife and then killed the husband in honorable combat.  The second is the wife, who tells a similar but factually different story, that she was raped by the bandit she doesn’t know how the husband died.  The third is the spirit of the dead husband, speaking through a medium, who says he committed suicide after being shamed by the bandit and his wife, who asked the bandit to kill the husband.  Lastly a woodcutter, who observed the scene but did not testify at the trial, comes forward with what supposedly really happened.

The point is that the stories are not different due to each character’s perspective; the stories are completely factually dissimilar! The witnesses aren’t slanting their testimony, they are objectively lying.  The bandit says that he fought a duel with the husband; the husband says he killed himself.  That is not a difference in perspective.  The bandit says the wife fought for her honor; the wife indicates she gave in willingly.  The bandit says he freed the tied-up husband, but the wife says she released him.  It’s all lies.

Maybe I should go back and re-examine old films.  Maybe the meaning of Rosebud is obvious.  Maybe Some Like It Hot is actually a serious examination of the perils of organized crime.  Maybe the third film in the Matrix trilogy makes sense.

All I know is that I am going to re-watch The Usual Suspects before I tell anyone that I’ve just been Keyser Soze’d.