Rashomon

Although several images [the medium spinning maniacally, Mifune's performance-- every bit as wild, full of life, and fucking nuts as, say, one by Kinski-- etc.] were/are forever etched in my craw, I wasn't sure how this would hold up for me, but I was delighted on re-watch to see just -how- formally brilliant and gorgeous this movie is. w/r/t the story, I know many will say this is a profound epistemological meditation, and/or an examination of the role of art, the artist-audience relationship (and the responsibility implicit in such things), and I understand this view. But, to me, the story never manages to transcend its fundamental mystery [I daresay a near intrinsically worthless form] structure. So, for me, this is completely a (visual) formalist movie, and as such is a tour de force, with its endlessly surprising and delighting composition and editing. That this came out in 1950 is to me staggering to think about.