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I_Ailurophile
Reviews
Jingi naki tatakai: Kanketsu-hen (1974)
A strong finish for a series that had some ups and downs
How successful could a fifth film in this series be? The fourth reclaimed much of the vitality that had made the first so great, if in a different manner, but where would another entry go based on the prior ending? The series had already seen its ups and downs as the first sequel, though still very good, was a small step down, and the third entry was notably one or two further steps down; how might the 'Final episode' compare? What could we expect of it in terms of film-making and storytelling style? As screenwriter Kasahara Kazuo had handed over the reins to Takada Koji for this last installment, what might a changing of the guard mean for the franchise, even as other members of the cast and crew returned once more? If Kasahara struggled to devise his last two screenplays, and accordingly struggled even more to conjure material for another, what might Takada have made of those efforts in his stead? These are the reasonable questions facing the last 'Battles without honor and humanity' as it begins, not to mention the knowledge in retrospect that the real-life yakuza who inspired the series in the first place apparently no longer regarded the cinematic creations well. Gratifyingly, though it is not free of its own issues, I'm inclined to think that this movie also carries its own strong, lasting value. It's not the same 'Battles' as any of its predecessors per se, but five entries in, that's not a bad thing.
Though the incidence hasn't been perfect all along, five pictures deep, the trajectory of the ongoing narrative definitely mirrors, at the first and the last, how the installments are approached in terms of both film-making and storytelling style. The progenitor explored the violence of the yakuza in the early post-war years as Japan rebuilt, and it's quite fitting that as both written and executed it would bear wild, chaotic energy that was a veritable shot in the arm for the genre. The third film, sadly plodding though it mostly was with extreme reliance on dialogue, was notably about alliances shifting behind closed doors; take that as you will. Now, as 'Final episode' finds Japan in an era of growing prosperity with vanishing room for criminal enterprises - leaving the yakuza to try to find their place in the new Japan, and struggling to kick bad habits - the final entry feels all the more like a more ordinary crime flick, mixing both drama and action. It's a big few steps away from what initially grabbed our attention in January 1973, but just as immediate predecessor 'Police tactics' was more balanced, finessed, and finely honed, I believe the same is true this time around. Under these circumstances the health of the writing is again more important, and though the screenplay has weaknesses, I rather think the problems Takada faced don't show up so much in the finished product. The core thrust is the most complicated of the series as yakuza clans form a loose coalition to try to go legitimate, but younger members and some old dogs are itching for a fight, resulting in continued trouble in the streets.
Much more than not Takada pulls out a win with his characters of disparate motivations, allegiances, and personalities, a sturdy narrative, robust dialogue, and as under Kasahara's tenure, firm and reliable scene writing. One stumbling block Takada does run into is that where the story deals once more, in some measure, with shifting alliances behind closed doors, scenes that are extra heavy with dialogue bog down the proceedings just as happened in 'Proxy war.' It also seems to me that a staple of the series - irregular pauses for narration and still images to provide context, and swiftly and concisely advance the plot - is more proliferate in this final run. Maybe that means Takada was at a loss of how to flesh out the story otherwise, or maybe that means the story was too big for one feature; maybe it was the best way to communicate some ideas, or maybe it was a cop-out, and the easiest path forward, One way or another, the use is abundant and noteworthy. Still, it remains the case that overall this fifth iteration remains pretty well balanced, and there is also plenty of violence to accompany the tale, and a fairly consistent is slightly uneven buzz of electricity to sustain some diminished level of the vibrancy that has marked the saga at its best.
All told there is nothing remarkable or spellbinding about this title, certainly not like we got in the original, but as I see it the conclusion is nevertheless roundly solid. Tsushima Toshiaki's music is again a flavorful complement where it rears its head. Fukasaku Kinji's direction is a steady anchor for the series, and likewise Miyamoto Shintaro's editing and Yoshida Sadaji's cinematography - if more restrained and conventional than before. The stunts, effects, and action sequences that are employed are sharp and invigorating in their bursts (though not necessarily as resplendently unfettered as in the past). The filming locations are swell, and in general those behind the scenes turned in excellent work with regards to production design, art direction, costume design, sound, and so on. If lacking the utmost power that 'Battles without honor and humanity' has enjoyed at its best, 'Final episode' has little sparks of brilliance all throughout that help to maintain engagement, primarily in Takada's writing and Fukasaku's direction. At this point in the series there was all too much potential for the whole endeavor to wear thin, so those little sparks may be more significant than they first appear in and of themselves, and regardless, they are most welcome as they demonstrate that the films still had something to offer.
One hundred minutes pass quickly and smoothly, a good sign of how compelling, entertaining, and satisfying the movie is through to the end as one age of the yakuza fades to be replaced by another. It has some relative shortcomings, perhaps, but the fact is that there are no flaws so severe as to leap out as major detractions. I believe this stands quite squarely alongside 'Deadly fight in Hiroshima,' if not in the same fashion, and it's maybe only a small degree apart from the progenitor and 'Police tactics' when it comes to broad quality - while claiming a look and feel that most closely approximates the latter. It's safe to say that I had mixed expectations when I sat to watch, so at length I'm pleased that the franchise was able to end on a high note. In my opinion it holds true that only the first 'Battles without honor and humanity' is so exceptional as to demand viewership, but all its successors are deserving in some capacity, and the saga that began with such a stunning flash wraps up with a meaningful, open-ended resolution. It won't find equal favor with all comers, but for my part I very much like 'Final episode,' and I'm happy to give it my hearty recommendation.
Hiroshima shitô hen (1973)
An excellent successor, rich and compelling, if maybe a bit less vibrant and remarkable
It's a bold moving, pushing out the second film in a series a mere three months after the first was released. Given the unique approach taken to both the storytelling and the film-making the first time around - loose, almost free-wheeling, chaotic, and harried - would its follow-up proceed along the same lines? Would it try something different; would it carry the same vibrancy and meet with the same success; would it fail to meet the same standard? To read of the production one comes to understand that liberties were taken with the source material and the history that inspired this picture, all for the sake of cinematic narrative cohesion; how would such choices impact the lasting success? It doesn't take long for us to find out, and not least with much the same collaborators rejoining filmmaker Fukasaku Kinji, it's safe to say that 'Deadly fight in Hiroshima' mostly retains the look and feel of its predecessor. Just as much to the point: this second flick of April 1973 does likewise put soft focus on particular families and individual figures, yet the plot boasts the same broad, laxly-woven nature, trusting in overall vibes more than a discrete, linear progression of beats. With that said, frankly those concerns of treatment of the source material fall by the wayside, because this second 'Battles without honor and humanity' is once again more about the general than the specific. And debate and compare as we might, at large this is just as swell.
Oh yes, the feature is based somewhat on actual people and events. More immediately, though, like the antecedent, this offers a glimpse at the perpetual feuds, graphic violence, and struggles for power and territory among yakuza in the years after World War II. With that, 'Deadly fight' maintains a consistent vision with its progenitor, and that pretty well extends to all elements. So Fukasaku sustains a zestful vitality with favor of handheld cameras, natural lighting, and a steady pace within most scenes. Cinematographer Yoshia Sadaji and editor Miyamoto Shintaro adopt the same mentality with their dexterous, dynamic contributions, especially bolstering the vigor of the violent stunts, effects, and action sequences, just as the cast give excellent, well-rounded performances of unexpected range, nuance, and emotional depth to adeptly meet the needs of any given moment. Tsushima Toshiaki's music provides flavorful complement, a nice juxtaposition with sharp production design, art direction, sets, costume design, hair, and makeup. Surprisingly, however, for as much kinship as this movie readily shares with its forebear - including regular instances of narration, stills, and on-screen text to provide context and advance the plot in a concise manner - it does also come across to some degree that this is a little more polished, and more carefully rendered. The bursts of violence are just as vivid, but especially in the quieter scenes of dialogue one detects a more deliberate, measured sense of writing and direction. This includes more distinct emphasis on a singular character, in this case hitman Yamanaka Shoji.
I'm inclined to believe that some fragment of the prior unbridled strength is diminished as this title refines what previously felt like a very fly-by-night production. Some outright energy is traded in for reserved dramatic sensibilities and emotional impact, and while the long-term quality is much the same there is unmistakably some disparity from one to the next. Maybe this means 'Deadly fight' is more accessible for some viewers; maybe it means that it lacks the same cutting edge, and is less remarkable, as it becomes a bit more conventional. Though the sequel is cut from the same cloth as the first release of January 1973, it's the difference of wholly embracing the roughness that may present, versus smoothing over some fractions to foster a more outwardly cogent, calculated front. It's my opinion that this makes this film every so slightly inferior to the unrelenting first 'Battles without honor and humanity'; then again, for the high level on which these pictures operate, that's not actually saying a lot. What it comes down to is that if the predecessor is an essential classic, its successor is maybe a tad less so, yet if one is receptive to the genre and everything that the series is known for, 'Deadly fight in Hiroshima' is ultimately just as worthwhile. Don't necessarily go out of your way for it, but chances are you can find all the features in the same place to begin with - and one way or another, if you do have the chance to watch, I'm pleased to give this yakuza flick my solid recommendation.
Jingi naki tatakai (1973)
A fascinating, intoxicating crime flick that remains fresh and vibrant
I've seen it remarked that this is the Japanese equivalent of 'The godfather,' representing yakuza honestly in the same fashion that Coppola's film did for the Italian-American mob, and I think this rings true even if one is not super well-read on the yakuza. After all, filmmaker Fukasaku and the actors accordingly received some input from individuals who really had been active in crime families, and in the first place the screenplay is based on the writings of imprisoned yakuza Mino Kozo. If you want to get down to proverbial brass tacks, some sequences and story ideas quite mirror 'The godfather' after some fashion, to say nothing of the overall narrative focus on shifts of power and territory between clans, perpetual feuds, and considerable graphic violence. No matter how much one may scrutinize the particulars, there is definite parity, and whether one has an especial interest in this or that aspect or is just generally interested in movies that trade in action and organized crime, I don't think there's much arguing that 'Battles without honor and humanity' is an engaging, rather fascinating classic, and it holds up very well even fifty years on.
The name really is on point as the plot dances freely over a broad spectrum of yakuza activity in which life and loyalty are cheap and figures constantly scrabble for better position. In some measure, though, the name also reflects somewhat on the film-making and storytelling styles employed in these ninety-nine minutes. Echoing the described reality of post-war Japan in which yakuza jockeyed for power, "chaos" is the word of the day - not exclusively defining the picture, but predominantly defining it. Director Fukasaku favors handheld cameras and natural lighting for the many bursts of bloodshed, and the loose, somewhat free-wheeling feel is reinforced in turn through Yoshida Sadaji's cinematography at large, and in Miyamoto Shintaro's curt, quick editing. To read of the production, and learn of the unauthorized "guerilla film-making" approach taken for some scenes, bolsters that sense even more. And then there's Kasahara Kazuo's screenplay: while the feature does softly center a few specific alliances, and a few specific individuals, 'Battles without honor and humanity' pointedly declines the very straightforward, narrow, linear storytelling that is typical to cinema. It's certainly not that this is an anthology, nor even a portrait of a people, time, and place as we've seen in other works, like Kurosawa Akira's 'Dodes'ka-den.' However, the plot is so deliberately open and scattered, relying in no small part on overarching vibes, that it's not necessary to hang on every word and beat, because that's just how the flick is made.
With additional instances applied at will of stylized music cues and freeze-frame editing, the resulting tableau unquestionably carries a harried, almost frenetic sensibility, yet with that comes an aggressive, zestful vitality that's invigorating. The approach may not sit well with all, but at the same time, there is no need to concern ourselves with how easy or difficult it is to follow the saga. The title feels fresh and vibrant even now in a manner well removed from the tightly scripted, carefully calculated film-making and storytelling that characterizes the overwhelming majority of cinema - a meticulousness that is just fine until we see a counterexample, and then we realize how stale it can quickly become. With further refusal to shy away from the harsh violence herein, or to bother redeeming these seedy underworld figures, 'Battles without honor and humanity' doesn't pull any punches. The sum total is definitely a wild ride, yet that's exactly what makes it so rich and satisfying. And for all the outward chaos of how it presents, rest assured that nothing here is sloppy or accidental. It can take just as much skill and intelligence to draw together a fast-paced, laxly-woven fiction as it does to fastidiously orchestrate a polished piece of prestige drama, and I dare say that this is an exemplar of just that.
And so for as outwardly hectic as the film may seem, Fukasaku's direction is superb in its predilection for vivid, lively shots and scenes. For as loose as the overall narrative is, the scene writing that stitches it together is wonderfully strong and flavorful, with some fantastically tasteful characters and dialogue. That cinematography and editing are bright and sharp in their execution, and Tsushima Toshiaki's music is cheeky, delicious complement to the proceedings. The cast give excellent performances matching the vigor of all other facets, including the terrific stunts, effects, and otherwise action sequences. From costume design, hair, and makeup, to sets, production design and art direction generally, and filming locations, everything looks great and feeds into the verisimilitude that's so ably fostered by the considerations of film-making, storytelling, and sources and outside input. Honestly, when all is said and done, this is pretty well captivating, as interesting for the story being told as for how that story is told, and how the whole was crafted outright. The series is one that we know by name well before we ever sit to watch, and as is commonly the case in such instances, the question stands of how much value it actually holds. In the case of this first 1973 movie, at least, let there be no mistake that its renown and reputation are very much deserved. I wasn't sure what to expect when I began, but even as it took a bit of getting used to what Fukasaku was doing here, all told I love it.
For any number of reasons it won't appeal to all comers, yet for anyone open to all the wide possibilities of the medium, this really is an exciting, engaging yakuza classic that stands the test of time. I'm very pleased with just how good it is, and as far as I'm concerned 'Battles without honor and humanity' earns a high, hearty recommendation!
Majo no takkyûbin (1989)
Unfailingly enchanting, earnest, and delightful
There are precious few Japanese filmmakers whose names are as widely known and celebrated as that of Miyazaki Hayao, and far more so when it comes to animation. Even with some more serious themes and story ideas, and disturbing imagery, one can rely on Miyazaki's works to be charming, engrossing, and satisfying on one level or another. It's safe to say that as soon as it begins 'Kiki's delivery service' absolutely shows itself to be a terrific example of everything we love in the man's oeuvre. It has its moments of being a little more downcast, yes, yet this is just part and parcel of a story about a young witch striking out on her own for the first time, learning about the world, discovering her inner strength, and growing up. That warm, vibrant story, with its rich characters and scene writing, is as endearing, entertaining, and rewarding for adults as it is for younger viewers, and by that measure alone this is a modern classic that surely anyone would enjoy.
Light, cheerful humor is peppered through these 100-odd minutes, in no small part just on account of the spirited title character and the dynamics she shares with Jiji, her little black cat with a big personality. Elsewhere the movie is simply heartwarming and enchanting, and this rather applies to pretty much everything in the picture. The backgrounds are filled with wonderful detail, and the active animation is sharp, fluid, and bursting with flavor in its designs. Hisaishi Jo's lighthearted music is a splendidly sweet complement to the proceedings, and I adore the voice acting (in the Japanese version) that breathes such life into the characters. In all honesty the length "flies" by very quickly - certainly not for lack of substance, but just on account of how wholesome and heartfelt the feature is, as earnest as it is enjoyable. I fully anticipated liking 'Kiki's delivery service,' and still I'm so very pleased with just how smartly written and delightful it is.
As a matter of personal preference this may not appeal to all comers, yet I have difficulty imagining that most viewers could sit to watch and not step away having had a great time. All throughout his career Miyazaki has demonstrated himself to be a superb storyteller and visionary filmmaker, and though this instance may not be an all-out revelation, it is flawless in its soft wit and magnetic pull. Marked with unfailing skill, care, and intelligence, 'Kiki's delivery service' is a fantastic slice of animation that will continue to hold up long after the luster of more recent fare of all stripes has faded, and I'm happy go give it my high and hearty recommendation!
Daigo Fukuryu-Maru (1959)
Firmly compelling and worthwhile, holding up well (if a little uneven)
It behooves one to read of the actual history of the titular vessel, for the incident and the stories of the crew members are sobering, upsetting, and downright infuriating; these are stories that must be told. With that real-life past well in mind it's safe to assume that this 1959 picture, in its way recounting the all too true events of five years before, would be decidedly downbeat and depressing, but also compelling - to some degree recalling many kindred works that have told of the tragic firsthand knowledge that the Japanese have of the power of atomic weapons and radiation. And just so: after the first twenty minutes or so, gentle exposition of movement on the high seas, camaraderie, and the sailors' close-knit working relationships, the film gives way to the core substance, and the mood turns quickly and definitively. No, 'Daigo Fukuryu Maru' is definitely not a happy movie, and words like "entertaining" or even "satisfying" carry too positive a connotation, but it is well made and mindful in its storytelling, suitably absorbing, and very much remains worth watching.
It's worth observing that the pacing, and occasionally the manner in which the story is told - e.g., the excitement of newspapermen as word spreads, and some overly exaggerated instances of acting - sometimes portend a slight upbeat tenor that exceeds the bounds even of what may feel appropriate. That is to say, we may well expect a measure of awestruck chatter to precede the dawning recognition of reality setting in, not to mention subsequent heightened anxiety, but I might argue that the representation here steps a little too far. Furthermore, content warnings are very necessary not just for the subject matter, but for animal cruelty in early sequences that was unmistakably real and not simulated. One may counter that such scenes are part of the reality of the fishing industry, but that doesn't make the footage any more palatable. In fairness, such qualities are restricted to no more than the first half. Otherwise, the "worst" one might say of the feature is a certain flatness to the overall tone, but I'm of the mind that more than not this actually serves the material well, for it allows the proceedings to speak for themselves. And as filmmaker Shindo Kaneto and co-writer Yagi Yasutaro made certain to weave in the wide variety of concerns that surrounded the boat and her crew, that even-keeled bent may rather help the tale to be told without getting bogged down in any one facet.
Whatever the particulars of our opinion as to how well the subject is treated, the title endeavors to address as much as it can. There is the initial ignorance of the fishermen, not knowing the full danger of the event they were party to, and the misunderstanding of other townspeople of what radiation sickness entails. The issue of contamination is raised, and later, the question of the obstacles and long, difficult road to recovery that the fishermen would face, let alone the ramifications for their loved ones. Less prominent in these 107 minutes is discussion of the stubbornness and even counterproductive deflection of the United States, such as at first refusing to even provide information crucial to the patients' conditions. This does get referenced, by all means, though perhaps given the interference that the U. S. had continued to have in Japanese affairs including cinema following World War II, it's an aspect of the saga that is maybe treated more delicately than it deserves to be. Even so, the screenplay renders history into an engrossing narrative of the hardships of the crew of the Daigo Fukuryu Maru ("Lucky Dragon No. 5") from exposure to gradual recovery and continued monitoring, and works hard to give as broad a perspective as possible.
Save for the lack of other adaptations of the story the picture might not be specifically remarkable in any way, but it is duly well made all the way through, and the runtime elapses quite smoothly. If sometimes overwrought, the cast give fine, warm performances, anchoring the film with meaningful emotional depth and humanity. Much the same could be said for Hayashi Hikaru's score, an able complement, and the direction of filmmaker Shindo as he maintains a balance between all the many elements. Steadfast as the plot is at large, the characterizations, dialogue, and especially the scene writing that flesh it out boast some welcome detail, with just enough of a mind for the central tragedy that at some select times the movie hits surprisingly hard. Otherwise rounded out with excellent contributions from all those operating behind the scenes - filming locations, sets, costume design, effects and special makeup, cinematography, and so on - all told I think this is very good, deserving on its own merits and as a testament to the events of seventy years before. Through to the end it is uneven in some ways, including a denouement that feels long in the tooth, and I wouldn't necessarily put it on the same pedestal as some other works that have broached the same topics. Nonetheless 'Daigo Fukuryu Maru' earns a solid recommendation, and this is worth checking out if you have the opportunity.
Dai-bosatsu tôge (1966)
A great, unsettling classic (if a little less than perfect)
In watching classic Japanese cinema it often seems to me that the film industry in the "Land of the Rising Sun" long ago mastered a finessed artistry that is relatively rare elsewhere. This is not to compare broad quality from one country to the next, but many revered features like this one rely heavily on a painstaking style of deliberate pacing and careful subtlety that, further paired with calculated shot composition, may outwardly come across as a dearth of activity. The cynic can easily imagine a casual U. S. viewer, steeped in the Hollywood that is commonly far more overt and forthright, dismissing 'The sword of doom' out of hand without a thought. Yet within the refined, meticulous approach taken by Okamoto Kihachi and like-minded filmmakers like Kobayashi Masaki lies a masterful strength and vision that makes their works far more lastingly engaging and impactful. So the deeply restrained lead performance of Nakadai Tatsuya is characterized by wonderful nuance, small but increasingly plain betrayals of emotion that are intense and haunting. The small shifts in stance and line of sight that dominate a face-off between two opponents make the incident acutely tense and suspenseful. Precise orchestration of shots and scenes, and Murai Hiroshi's mindful, vivid cinematography, are breath-taking in their artfulness at the same time that they reinforce the underhanded darkness, even in something so seemingly simple as a scene of training. And like Sato Masaru's superb score, brilliant and judicious in its dynamics, instrumentation, and deployment: when the time does come for stark violence, as with a brutal yet gorgeous key scene set amidst snowfall, or unfettered expression, all that otherwise moderation allows the more strident moments to resonate all the more.
I don't think this picture is free of flaws. The story comes full circle and no facet is irrelevant, yet for a majority of these two hours scenes focusing on Omatsu and/or Shichibei are far too removed from the rest of the narrative that focusses on Ryunosuke, and secondarily on Hyoma. Even as Omatsu and Shichibei's thread is definitively woven into the whole, I think many of these scenes could have been left on the cutting room floor, and in turn few if any changes would have been necessary in the script to account for the omission. It rather comes across as a peculiar B-plot, a sense that only emphasizes an unfortunate measure of weakness in the writing, if not also in the direction. Further demonstrating the point: through to the end, with its shockingly bloody, decidedly unsettling, climactic final sequence, the movie is raptly absorbing and satisfying, and leaves one with a feeling of unexpected vexation, in some sense reminding of how the playful theatricality of Vincent Price's horror pieces nevertheless routinely concluded on a dire, disquieting note. Be that as it may, another plot thread which is seeded throughout the length and even well into the third act doesn't even get resolved. It is just weirdly dropped, and though I understand and appreciate the storytelling logic of the tale as it presents - a proverbial roll of fate's dice in-universe has decided that the course of events will swerve left when the foretold route suggested a turn to the right - the abrupt suspension of one character's involvement just comes off as shortsightedness on the part of the writing. And for that matter, maybe the issue wouldn't be so striking, if not for that additional, predominant, flimsier treatment of Omatsu and Shichibei.
And yet it says so much about 'The sword of doom' that even as these factors draw my attention and to some extent lower my favor, far more than not the title is so stupendously strong that it remains a firmly compelling, entrancing viewing experience. I used the phrase "underhanded darkness" before, but it's applicable only some of the time, for this is by and large unwavering in its perturbing grimness. A sagacious few words uttered by iconic Mifune Toshiro in his role as Toranosuke Shimada quite summarize the proceedings that follow amoral, stoic Ryunosuke, almost peerless in his skill with a blade and all but unshakeable in his confidence - until that confidence is shaken, quietly but dramatically, setting the stage for the finale to come. The name is all too appropriate, for Ryunosuke is a man whose indifference to life and lack of a moral compass breed fear, resentment, and antipathy even in those who have some personal connection to him, and having been consumed by his instrument of death, there is only one possible outcome. For all its faults the narrative is overall fantastic and keeps us solidly invested, and the scene writing is unfailingly vibrant. From those quieter moments that carry their restive, agitated vibes, to the dazzling displays of swordsmanship and sprays of crimson, and from little eye-catching shots and scenes to his guidance of the cast, Okamoto illustrates utmost skill and intelligence in his direction befitting contemporaries who are more widely known and celebrated. I repeat that I love Sato's rich score, and likewise Murai's sharp cinemtography; we can and must praise the marvelously detailed sets, costume design, hair, and makeup, and the beautiful filming locations, but even the consideration for light and shadow is gratifying.
Nakadai unquestionably stands out most among the actors, though this is hardly to speak ill of co-stars like Mifune, Kayama Yuzo, Aratama Michiyo, and still others. Though perhaps more sparing here than in other jidaigeki, where stunts, effects, choreography, and action sequences do come into play they are uniformly outstanding. All told this is unmistakably a classic samurai picture that has well earned its reputation; at its best it's altogether spellbinding, and moreover, at its best one indisputably recognizes the phenomenal craftsmanship and film-making sensibilities that define countless other period pieces especially throughout all the many years of Japanese cinema. It's all the more regrettable, then, that I find Hashimoto Shinobu's screenplay to be troubled in the two very specific noted circumstances; even if it meant fiddling some with the source material, in my mind I see how the storytelling could have been tightened and improved, and consequently the film itself. Even so, I remain greatly pleased at how good 'The sword of doom' is, and how well it holds up; whether you're particularly interested in the genre, or the credits of someone involved, or just looking for a worthwhile watch, this is absolutely worth checking out. Maybe be aware of the more reserved style of film-making to which it belongs, and keep in mind that it isn't totally perfect, but 'The sword of doom' is terrific all the same, and I'm happy to give it my hearty recommendation.
Satsujin kyôjidai (1967)
One part action-thriller - one part farcical spoof - 100% fun, funny, and well-made!
It's nice to sometimes go into a movie completely unprepared for what it will be, and by Jove, I did not know anything about this before I sat to watch. To wit: the name 'The age of assassins' may suggest a yakuza flick, or a spy thriller, but in actuality it's a farcical romp that continually supplies a steady stream of outrageousness recalling the most abject silliness of Monty Python, The Muppets, or The Three Stooges. It's one thing to remark that the dialogue, scene writing, and characterizations in a script are ridiculous and exaggerated, toying playfully with genre tropes; it's another to begin watching and see an animated credits sequence straight out of Saturday morning cartoons, a major supporting character whose very name is a gag, and a lead actor leaning hard into the characterization of an incredibly nerdy, dopey goof who has secretive hidden depths. Every odd and end is bent toward either reinforcing the compelling underlying narrative, which actually is ripe for earnest storytelling, or gleefully furthering the absurdity layered on top. This does mean some tonal discrepancy at points, but even that is very deliberate, and the result is a tremendous joy well beyond what I ever could have supposed!
So we get dichotomies like finely executed stunts, effects, and action sequences, set against cheeky performances for the primary cast members that are highly animated and all but cartoonish. We're introduced to monstrous, villainous figures, and some genuinely disturbing imagery in reflection of their scheme, that are straight out of Eon Productions' James Bond franchise (both the lighter and darker varieties), but also pointedly curt editing that, in cutting to mundane imagery, slyly bolsters the humor. With sparing exception Sato Masaru's music is commonly light or even jaunty, accentuating the fun-loving core much like a few scantily-clad women and outright frivolity; on the other hand, the story carries a considerable body count. I recognize that Suzuki Seijun's 'Branded to kill' and Elio Petri's 'The tenth victim' are drawn as comparisons, and I quite agree with that assessment; I would further add 1967's 'Casino Royale' to that list, had it been more cohesive and cogently made. It's a peculiar and perhaps risky blend that filmmaker Okamoto Kihachi conjures with writers Ogawa Ei and Yamazaki Tadaaki, and I can understand how it may not appeal to all comers, but for my part, I had an absolute blast!
And still, for as much as the picture swings between moods, or maybe more appropriately between the two halves of the whole, nothing here is accidental or sloppy. Everything looks and sounds fantastic, and is very carefully calculated to meet the precise needs in adapting Tsuzuki Michio's novel - one part wild zest, and one part sincere thriller. From the big sequences, to the cast's performances, to details in the background, Okamoto's direction is wonderfully versatile, not to mention totally solid and reliable, in both maintaining a unified feel and singular vision, and navigating the shifting tone. The filming locations are terrific, and the sets lovely; Nishigaki Rokuro's cinematography is as sharp and mindful as that editing of Kuroiwa Yoshitami. Sato's music really is delightful, and the fundamental image and audio are crisp and vivid. The indicated stunts, effects, and action sequences are as superb and exciting as we would expect from any honest big-budget action flick. From the production design and art direction, to costume design, hair, and makeup, to props and weapons, all elements herein were crafted with marvelous detail. The acting is splendidly adept, dexterously maneuvering between the straightforward and serious vibes and the most jovial ones. Even those in the most unequivocal roles, like Amamoto Hideyo, give vibrant portrayals, let alone more prominent Sunazuka Hideo and Dan Reiko. It goes without saying though that Nakadai Tatsuya, starring as Shinji, has the most demands placed on him as the protagonist adopts a certain persona, and Nakadai's performance is so tight and entertaining that he is easily a magnetic top highlight of these ninety-nine minutes.
Above all, with flavorful scene writing, some rich characters, and a strong, engaging plot with many fabulous turns, the nimble writing achieves an unlikely balance that even some pure, star-studded modern action-comedies can't manage. I think the key here is that there was plentiful potential and existing value in 'The age of assassins' as both a straight action-thriller and an all-out spoof - the material is strong enough that it could have been one or the other. Whether we credit author Tsuzuki, the screenwriting team, or both, the combination was penned with such skill, intelligence, and care that the both aspects mesh together at least as well if not better than they would if it carried the same sensibilities as kindred fare of more recent years (which is to say, trying extra hard to be a seamless action-comedy right out of the gate). From that firm foundation the remainder is given all the greater an opportunity to flourish, and thus the direction, acting, and otherwise craftsmanship demonstrates the smart capabilities of all. I assumed from the outset that I would enjoy this feature, and still I'm so pleased with how fun and funny it is. Whether one has a specific impetus to watch or is just looking for something good, I think this holds up very well, and I'm happy to give 'The age of assassins' my high, enthusiastic recommendation!
Tengoku to jigoku (1963)
Stellar and masterful, a tense, spellbinding crime classic
Kurosawa Akira may generally be best known for his samurai flicks, yet plentiful examples in his oeuvre demonstrate his versatile mastery no matter what the nature of the project. True, a considerable amount of the strength in this picture comes from the writing, both Evan Hunter's root novel and its adaptation by Kurosawa with collaborators Kikushima Ryuzo, Oguni Hideo, and Hisaita Eijiro. From a viewer's standpoint the screenplay is absolutely wonderful, giving us a tense, suspenseful, fiercely compelling, raptly absorbing crime drama and thriller, with rich, flavorful scene writing, interesting and well-written characters, and excellent dialogue. Yet tremendous writing, overflowing with superb detail as this is, can still fall flat in execution - and thankfully we don't have to worry about this with Kurosawa. 'High and low' is lengthy at nearly two and one-half hours, but it's so fantastic from top to bottom that we never feel the time ticking by. For various reasons I don't tend to watch similar films of more recent years, no matter their point of origin, and of everything in the man's body of work I wasn't necessarily looking forward to watching this. That measure of hesitance was terribly misplaced, however, for I found myself intensely spellbound while watching, and as far as I'm concerned this unquestionably counts among Kurosawa's great successes.
The runtime is notably split in unequal halves, with the first hour or so very much centering executive Gondo as his risky business plans are upended, and the remainder focused on Inspector Tokura and his colleagues as they work to solve the kidnapping case. Marvelously sharp, dynamic editing and cinematography do as much as Kurosawa's direction to keep the proceedings fresh and fleet-footed with high energy, bringing every shifting mood to bear with unfailing fidelity. And frankly this goes just as well for every element in the feature, no matter how small. Sato Masaru's music is relatively sparing as it complements the the plot but is splendidly tasteful as it does, and some themes are altogether outstanding; the audio at large is impeccable, extra important for a title where various sounds are among the minutiae critical to to the storytelling. The filming locations are stupendous, and no less so the production design and art direction, giving the movie a look and feel that further bewitches and immerses us in the narrative. Just as every iota of the writing is flush with fabulous detail, these are meaningfully employed and brought forth at the plot develops, sometimes with the ingenious subtlety of shot composition alone, or the painstakingly precise manner in which a scene is orchestrated; moreover, we in the audience are so wrapped up in the course of events that our minds start whirring, watching closely for such details ourselves, and every tiny odd and end manages to be incredibly invigorating all on its own. Why, speaking of details, even the fashion in which characters are approached in the writing and direction are low-key captivating, from the police who are (I cannot emphasize this enough) unrealistically smart, honest, compassionate, and helpful, to the complexity of Gondo, Aoki, and other prominent figures; from the way in which the antagonist is softly introduced, with more information about him slowly being revealed to us, to even negligible supporting parts, like the addicts seen late in the third act, who feed into the building pressure and buzzing electricity of it all. Even the use of light and shadow and the fundamental black and white presentation are carefully calculated to play crucial parts in the tableau. Truthfully, while the premise may not immediately catch our attention, the fact is that 'High and low' is perfect.
All this is to say nothing of the acting, for down to those most negligible, passing roles, the cast is plainly exceptional. Mifune Toshiro may be the most recognizable and most widely celebrated star, playing Gondo, yet I wonder if he isn't outshone in this instance by Nakadai Tatsuya (Tokura), Sada Yutaka (Aoki), Ishiyama Kenjiro (Bos'n), or Yamazaki Tsutomu (the kidnapper) among other major players. Even those actors we only see in a single scene, like Fujiwara Kamatari, Sawamura Ikio, Sugai Kin, and still some others who go uncredited, give terrific performances that make the most of what time they have on-screen and enrich the film well beyond what one would assume of so miniscule a character. From the unassuming beginning through to the unexpectedly potent ending, this is truly one of the most flawless pictures I've ever seen. Even as I continue going through Kurosawa's credits and finding him again and again to be a peerless filmmaker, I continually find myself astonished at just how stellar each work is in turn. I wasn't particularly anticipating this when I sat to watch, and I have been blown away by just how good it is. There are facets here that we've seen elsewhere, certainly, both before and since, but I don't know if there's any one comparable piece I've seen that comes close to matching 'High and low.' Whether you're an especial fan of someone involved or just looking for something good to watch, this is a masterpiece of a classic that wholly ensorcels us and stuns all but constantly. I couldn't be happier with how exemplary it is, and in my mind it completely demands viewership. I'm utterly pleased to give this my very highest, most enthusiastic recommendation, and I suggest making this the top priority on your watch list.
Doraibu mai kâ (2021)
A thoughtful, softly beautiful character drama
I won't lie, it took me a while to start to get into this. The pacing and tone are both rather gentle, and the reflections of Yusuke's life in the cast and script of 'Uncle Vanya' is sometimes decidedly (if purposefully) on the nose. By one means or another there is a certain rigidity in the acting at points, restricting the actors' expression of emotions, that is enforced through Hamaguchi Ryusuke's direction; now and again this is perhaps quite appropriate in some measure, but it's noteworthy and less typical. And as 'Drive my car' is primarily a character drama, all these subjective factors are rather brought to the fore as the picture relies so heavily on the dialogue, scene writing, and acting. None of this specifically speaks to the quality, nor to the root story of Murakami Haruki, but it's worth mentioning for the fact the sum total takes a little getting used to, and may not appeal to all comers.
Yet even if we take these points to heart as major criticisms, or find others, far more than not this is simply a lovely, beautiful film, and there is so much to it that I think one could watch several times and get something more with each viewing. In contrast with the most exact echoes between some facets, the screenplay and the title at large overflow with wonderful subtleties, nice little touches that hit upon something something deeper. The three-hour runtime that at first seems daunting ultimately goes down smoothly as characters bond, and plumb greater truths; as notions that are first touched upon earlier in the length are brought back later, and expanded upon; as the multilingual nature of the production silently dovetails into the bigger ideas on hand; as actors on both levels give terrifically nuanced performances and achieve some small profundity with their characters; and so on. These subtleties extend even to the construction of the feature as careful, meaningful consideration can be discerned in Hamaguchi's vision as director, informing the orchestration of shots and scenes; in Shinomiya Hidetoshi's cinematography, stark and vivid whether we're tracing the path of a road, in close quarters in some interior, or stepping outside; and in Yamazaki Azusa's keen editing, which like the character-driven narrative works to bring these traits to the foreground. If at first I had some difficulty engaging, as the minutes tick by I was so engrossed that upon finishing I actually wanted to immediately watch again.
I can't claim to grasp all the intricacies of Murakami's short story, of Hamaguchi and Oe Takamasa's adapted screenplay, or of the realization at large, though perhaps I would with repeated viewings. Even at that, however, there is much to love in this movie, and I can very much appreciate why it has been so highly lauded. The story is softly but earnestly compelling in following widower actor and director Yusuke as he oversees a production of 'Uncle Vanya,' and the scene writing is momentously strong (more than the overall plot) in driving intensely at the true core substance of the viewing experience. The characters are rife with marvelous complexity, giving the cast the utmost opportunity to explore their roles and find something rich therein, and they unfailingly do so. As the thoughtful dialogue brings all this to bear and rounds out the screenplay, tremendous themes of human connection present, the sort that will reveal more of themselves to us in revisiting the picture and which are hard to describe without speaking at length to the course of events. Even as 'Drive my car' builds gradually towards its most powerful scenes in the third act it is flush with potency all throughout, and the cumulative result is more impactful and satisfying than I would have supposed even given its lofty reputation. Of all things it was Ishibashi Eiko's light, pleasurable music that initially drew my favor the most as it deftly complemented the proceedings, and the fact that this turns out to be icing on the proverbial cake only emphasizes how gratifying the feature really is.
All told those earliest impressions I suggested fade to the far background, well outshone by the understated brilliance of the whole. When all is said and done I have nothing but praise for everyone involved: Hamaguchi's direction is impeccable, firm yet supple in shaping the film; the writing is incredibly smart, and increasingly poignant as these three hours draw on; all those contributing from behind the scenes turned in stupendous work; the cast is uniformly superb, and somehow I find myself wondering if those in smaller supporting parts like Yu-rim Park and Kirishima Reika don't manage to outshine more prominent stars like Miura Toko and Nishijima Hidetoshi. That the latter is even possible only further cements the round excellence of the movie in my mind, and frankly I could hardly be happier with just how good this is. It is perhaps a bit of a challenging view, but only in the best and most thought-provoking of ways; that, as stated, I rather want so swiftly to watch again says a lot. Based on its high esteem I certainly had high expectations, and I was not led astray. So long as one is open to storytelling of a distinctly more intellectual, contemplative bent, 'Drive my car' is fantastic and well worth carving out time to watch, and I'm glad to give it my high and hearty recommendation!
Akai tenshi (1966)
Stark, arresting, and compelling - if also earnestly troubling
What is this film if not a portraiture of both the ugliness and complexities of war as they impact even those who are not specifically on the front lines? In focusing on nurse Nishi Sakura we're given a protagonist who feels deep sympathy for her soldier patients and those around her, and takes that sympathy to extremes, even if said patients wrong her. There is also substantial reflection herein on the absurdities of war with regards to conscription, and how draftees' skills are warped and misused in the military; the endless stream of casualties, and the twisted mindset that may gift promotions; how soldiers are mistreated by their own leaders, the abuses endured by doctors, nurses, and support staff, and still more, including the ways both literal and proverbial in which anyone involved in such madness may self-medicate. Though filmed in black and white there is major grisliness throughout 'Red angel' as many shots and scenes depict the blood and gore of field hospitals, the long lines of full beds, dirtied surgical instruments, removed bullets and shrapnel, and more. Largely bereft of the action sequences of the average war movie, this drama nevertheless speaks unflinchingly to the horrors of war. Moreover, there is no glorification whatsoever of martial strife, or of the soldier life, and really the opposite is true: from one scene to the next heavy emphasis is placed on criticizing war, and how the military treats even their own.
Furthermore, there is significant treatment herein of the horrid intersection of sex and lust with the gender dynamics of military logistics. However terribly fallacious in reality, in an echo of some of the most toxic strains of male thought that endure even in modern society there is direct linkage between sexual potency and masculinity, and the loss of the former is equated to loss of the latter. Just as drills, discipline, and the command to kill may be cynically viewed as reducing the soldier to an unthinking beast, that demanded atavistic impulse extends to how women are treated by soldiers, specifically, and more generally, the military, and men. Truthfully, at times this feature is a hair's breadth away from sado-erotic exploitation, and one can easily envisage how it may have looked had it been made with the sensibilities of some such genre fare in the 1970s, or even if another filmmaker like Oshima Nagisa ('In the realm of the senses') had taken on the project. While do we also get bits and pieces of the battle violence of other pictures that handle the same subject matter, far more than not 'Red angel' steps back from the usual explosions and gunfire to show us another side of war - and if anything even more so with that broad declination, from every corner Masumura Yasuzo gives us a sordid saga that wavers on the razor's edge between accentuating how war strips people of their humanity, and zeroing in on characters who desperately try to retain their humanity and sense of self.
There is abundant, meaningful value herein, however achingly grim and dreary. Ikeno Sei's tremendous original score is plainly haunting as it further lends to the gloom, and the production values are top-notch with image and audio that are equally crisp. The production design and art direction are outstanding, and the visuals are flush with incredible detail in the sets, costume design, hair and makeup, crimson and viscera, and props and weapons. Those stunts and effects that are employed are vivid and finely executed, as fine as in any kindred genre fare, and only further cement the dourness in how they are used. Masumura's direction is marvelously smart and adept, ably navigating the subtly shifting moods of the difficult spaces between the most dubious, uncomfortable, and seedy ideas, the traces of human warmth, the stark underlying themes, and the overarching bleakness, and he does so in a manner that unfailingly brings out the best of the cast. Wakao Ayako certainly stands out most in the lead role as Nishi, but she is joined in her excellence by all those in supporting parts, from prominent Ashida Shinsuke to those in smaller roles like Kawazu Yusuke. The material is tough, demanding delicate range and nuance in maneuvering between dangerously impassioned, quietly thoughtful, highly emotive, and unnerved trauma, but Wakao and her co-stars give terrific performances that increasingly impress.
Above all, in penning his adapted screenplay, writer Kasahara Ryozo saturates the title with simmering outrage at the damage war wreaks not just on people's bodies and lives but their psyche. The humanity that peeks through 'Red angel,' represented primarily but not exclusively in Nurse Nishi and Dr. Okabe, is refreshing relief when stood next to the poisonous barbarism that has been infused into soldiers, the amoral tinkering of military leadership that treats people like disposable tools, and the numbing routine of encountering death and devastation every day. And still even Nishi and Okabe are not free from these horrors as they themselves fall victim to violence, adopt fatalistic attitudes, and turn to self-destructive behaviors of various stripes to cope with it all. I think all these themes may have been stronger still had Nishi in particular been fleshed out a tad more - that is, if we spent even only a few minutes seeing who she was before she became another pawn in the machinations of war - but even at that the characters are written with depth and complications that are a big part of what makes the film so spellbinding. This is hardly any less true of the rich, mindful dialogue, and the scene writing is vibrant in the best and worst of ways in filling out a fiercely compelling, harrowing narrative. If in a different manner, Masumara's movie reminds me of the scathing anti-war sentiments of Abel Gance's disquieting silent epic 'J'accuse,' or the stridently criticism of the military that is Stanley Kubrick's 'Paths of glory.' This joins some esteemed company.
There are two more salient points that one would be awfully remiss not to discuss. First is that Kasahara and Masumara waste no time in confronting us with one of the most shocking sequences of the feature, and while it is part and parcel of what 'Red angel' does broadly, the incidence is jolting and makes a poor first impression as it presents. The entire episode with Sakamoto is immensely troubling, and I think the shakiest portions of the writing are the first out of the gate. Even if we accept that Nishi has a practically pathological need to sympathize, and be the nurse that her patients need, the first approximate third of the runtime left me skeptical. And there's also this: is the unwavering, trenchant tenor of the picture bolstered by the fact that the story centers the Japanese army in China during World War II? Or does that make it all problematic? This doesn't speak directly to all the many war crimes that Imperial Japan committed against the Chinese, but certainly to some; is the tone duly harsh in its criticism, or not enough so? Kasahara and Masumara do not for one moment romanticize or lionize, and the most sympathetic characters are but cogs in the war machine as the script reservedly but unmistakably lashes out against the inhumanity imposed upon people by war; does this balance out the fact of the plot centering the aggressors in a massive, deadly conflict? I don't have the answers to these questions. I know only that if nothing else, no matter how deserving it may otherwise be, 'Red angel' has an asterisk next to its name.
However much we can, should, and must dissect such facets, though, the incontrovertible truth is that by and large this is fantastic. It's raptly absorbing, and very much thought-provoking; that some elements raise an eyebrow or merit scrutiny does not undercut the overall strength. I found myself doubting this title initially, but as the tale advanced I was drawn in more and more, and once the complete image emerges of what the filmmaker was doing here, the result is greatly satisfying. Especially given the nastiness of the material this won't appeal to all comers, nor meet with equal favors, and it bears repeating that there are aspects of the work that require earnest, probing analysis. Be that as it may, far more than not 'Red angel' is a superb classic that deserves more recognition, and I would definitely recommend it to anyone who is receptive to such movies that explore the darker side of life.
Musuko no seishun (1952)
A small, unexpectedly charming delight
Kobayashi Masaki made many outstanding, classic movies, and he's surely one of the most widely celebrated filmmakers of Japanese cinema. It seems strange at the outset that he would also make a picture of such an abbreviated length; moreover, stood next to pretty much any point of comparison, the predominant tone here is very light, if not almost bubbly. In its portrayal of the domestic life of a family - mother, father, and two teenaged sons - one is frankly reminded of 50s sitcoms on television in the United States, and this is echoed in Kobayashi's direction just as much as in the writing of Hayashi Fusao and Nakamura Sadao. Even where 'Youth of the son' gets relatively "intense and dramatic" it's in arguments and scuffles between clean-cut, well-dressed boys, and even this is just to broach underlying themes; in every other capacity this is a half-step away from the cutesiness of 'Leave it to Beaver' or its kin. This applies without fail to the character writing, the scene writing and dialogue, the plot, the acting, and even Kinoshita Chuji's music. Further accentuating the point, the "Happy Birthday" song is sung, and it's not the only tune herein. What a far cry from 'Kwaidan' and 'Harakiri!'
Yet none of this is specifically a mark against this little film, not even the wide, beaming smiles that the actors commonly wear throughout, nor the slight shift in tone in the last ten minutes or so. The vibes are wildly unexpected, but that is no reflection on quality. In fact, though I'm deeply curious about how 'Youth of the son' came to be in the first place, I can't say I didn't enjoy it, and it's well made exactly as it is. It really is charming, truthfully, and even funny, and endearing; in some measure it's a refreshing change of pace when stood next to the post-war dramas, the yakuza flicks, and the jidaigeki that commonly populated much of contemporary and subsequent Japanese cinema. The performances are as unfailingly vibrant and lovely as the costume design, hair, and makeup are sharp; the sets and filming locations alike are swell. The cinematography is smart and vivid, and likewise the editing, and the music adds nice flavor. There's just enough variety and warmhearted earnestness in the tiny feature to offset the general tendency toward kitsch, and the result is surprising - a pleasing, lighthearted joy that is a welcome breath of fresh air amidst the troubles of real life and the ponderous storytelling of much of the medium.
The story plays with notions of parenting, and raising boys into young men; flashes of more harsh emotions are temporary as they propel the diminutive narrative, and these forty-five minutes end as cheerfully as they begin. All told this may come off as a tad peculiar, but mostly on account of the oeuvre of the man who made it, and even at that its writing and direction are perfectly solid. It may be a smidgen ham-handed, but it's also not without meaningful heart to keep it grounded. 'Youth of the son' definitely caught me off-guard, and while I don't think it's anything that demands viewership, I'm happy to say that it really is a good time when all is said and done. Sometimes a short burst of frivolity is just what we need, and if that's what you're looking for or if you're just a fan of Kobayashi, I'm glad to give this my recommendation.
Tsuma yo bara no yô ni (1935)
Softly rich and satisfying; a fine drama
I admit I find this to be a little uneven, and it's possible that my opinion stems in part from an inability to fully appreciate the film-making and storytelling sensibilities that figure into it. (By the same token, though relatively rare, I believe it is unfavorable when the lasting value of a picture is in some measure dependent on cultural context.) One way or another, there are points where the dialogue and scene writing come across as rather rigid and unnatural - and for that matter, Naruse Mikio's direction as well - and slivers of tonal discrepancy also curiously raise their head, even in Ito Noboru's complementary score. In fairness, these issues diminish, if not resolve entirely, as the plot develops beyond the exposition in the first third that establishes characters, their relationships, and the scenario. It's still unfortunate, though, that with a shorter runtime of only seventy-four minutes, those issues consequently feel more pronounced. However worthy 'Wife! Be like a rose!' may or may not otherwise be, to some small extent it doesn't necessarily meet its full potential.
Yet thankfully such matters represent but a fragment of the movie, and regardless of how much we might scrutinize it this is, overall, quite strong, enjoyable, and satisfying. Though without specific examples coming to mind I'm reminded somewhat of some contemporary fare out of Hollywood or England in how the story initially seems ready to focus on Kimiko's relationship with boyfriend Seiji, but instead shifts to the more dramatic focus of her family's structure, with father Shunsaku having left her and mother Etsuko years ago. This is probably the more interesting story, anyway, for through it we see the complexities of relationships between men and women, not to mention the complexities of individual people; the false assumptions that we make about people based on limited information, and the difficulties of reconciling our hopes for the future with the realities of the past and present; and more. This carries itself with a soft tone, declining to heavily emphasize any beat or idea, but that works perfectly in the film's favor as the tale and its themes are allowed to speak for themselves. And so they do. It's worth further observing that in 'Wife! Be like a rose!' we see a quite modern vision of Japan, with Kimiko moreover being an intelligent, independent-minded young woman, and writing that denotes Shunsaku's culpability - unlike a lot of contemporary works in which Men Never Do Any Wrong unless they were outright villains - while also recognizing the complicated situation in which the characters find themselves. I don't think the title is impeccable, yet Naruse's writing is generally superb as he adapts Nakano Minoru's play.
In all other ways this is splendidly well made, with Suzuki Hiroshi's cinematography striking me as especially smart and dynamic. As the feature maintains a soft, reserved tenor, I think the cast are given more of an opportunity to meaningfully demonstrate their nuanced range and emotional depth, and from one to the next the performances are excellent. By all means, some roles are larger than others, yet I'm equally pleased with all the actors, from Chiba Sachiko (Komiko), Ito Tomoko (Etsuko), and Fujiwara Kamatari (uncle Shingo), to Hanabusa Yuriko (Oyuki), Maruyama Sadao (Shunsaku), and Horikoshi Setsuko (Shizuko). The filming locations are lovely, and the sets no less so; the costume design is sharp and fetching. Truthfully, while I'm of the mind that there are some shortcomings, when all is said and done I think the strengths this boasts well outshine any weaker spots, and the impression I'm left with is of a quietly rich, rewarding drama. One would be remiss not to observe this to have seemingly been one of Naruse's first sound pictures, and one of the first Japanese pictures to have made its way to the United States, and from the outside one might wonder if it has any further value to offer ninety years later. I'm happy to say that as far as I'm concerned it very much does, and I'm glad to give a warm, hearty recommendation for 'Wife! Be like a rose!'
'Jûsangô taihisen' yori: Sono gosôsha o nerae (1960)
Overall very good, with an excellent finish, if less sure-footed in various ways
I find myself a little surprised by how straightforward this is. It carries definite airs of film-noir, and the crime thriller, as protagonist Tamon independently pursues an investigation into a spiraling series of events. The body count rises amidst seedy business and pure underworld dealings, and there are plenty of turns to come as the plot develops. Even so, the movement is fairly linear, and with infrequent exceptions the tone is unexpectedly muted if not just plain flat. Granted, that tone is no mark against the picture per se as it doesn't speak specifically to the substance, though it does reduce our engagement to some degree. On the other hand, stood next to the most readily comparable fare, the relative lack of sophistication in the narrative does specifically impact our opinion to at least some extent - and when we learn who is behind the deaths and why, the explanations aren't entirely convincing on paper, nor satisfying. A major component of any murder mystery or kindred story is the dramatic reveal of the killer and their motives, or at least the underlying scheme, and if these aren't adequately compelling, then our viewing experience will be diminished. I'm definitely not saying that 'Take aim at the police van' is bad, because that's plainly not true, but all told the strength of its storytelling is just variable enough that its lasting value is lessened.
Be that as it may, the feature remains enjoyable and worthwhile on its own merits. Though the writing has its weaknesses, more than not scribes Shimada Kazuo and Sekizawa Shinichi penned a solid, absorbing story and a fine screenplay. The scene writing is strong, the best of the characterizations are interesting, and perceived shortcomings in the script amount to insufficient development of all characters and ideas, and thin connective threads between ideas. More than not Suzuki Seijun's direction is just splendid in orchestrating shots and scenes; it's technically capable for sure, and maybe just a tad softer when it comes to infusing the necessary vitality for the proceedings. In fairness, the climax is wonderfully sharp, suspenseful, and exciting, arguably the peak in these seventy-nine minutes where the direction is concerned - and importantly, where the reveals indicated above don't necessarily impress as written, in realization the drama is most assuredly felt in the last minutes. Furthermore, even when Suzuki comes up short, other contributors pick up the slack. Suzuki Akira's editing is marvelously tight and effective, and Mine Shigeyoshi's cinematography is reliably rich and vibrant. The cast is unfailingly fantastic; among others, Mizushima Michitaro deftly navigates the lead role with swell nuanced range and commanding presence, and Watanabe Misako increasingly stands out with the personality and emotional depth she brings to her part as Yuko. Moreover, where stunts, effects, and action sequences rule the day (above all at the climax), they are roundly excellent and absolutely do much to invest us in the film.
Rounded out with terrific filming locations, music, and various other work from those behind the scenes, when all is said and done I actually think this is pretty swell, and we're certainly treated to a superb finish. The final sequence is so smartly written and executed that it makes me reconsider my critiques in some measure. I just kind of wish that the whole screenplay were approached with equal care from top to bottom, for some beats, characterizations, and connective threads are unquestionably more firm and sure-footed than others. Ultimately 'Take aim at the police van' is entertaining and engrossing, and it holds its own reasonably well against like-minded contemporary fare out of Hollywood, England, France, or elsewhere. This deserves a look if one has the chance to watch. Just know that it's imperfect, and maybe like me you'll find that in the end the whole manages to pull out a win despite its occasional infirmities.
Nihon boryoku-dan: Kumicho (1969)
Strong, compelling, and unexpectedly impactful (if a smidgen unpolished)
The one trouble that I see with this film is that it has distinct rough edges in the narrative writing. By and large Konami Fumio, Osada Noriot, and filmmaker Fukasaku Kinji penned a terrific screenplay boasting an engaging, compelling story, and all the beats and ideas are there. The connective threads between those beats and ideas, however, are sometimes fuzzy and indistinct, leaving a bit to be desired. There is a logical progression, yet through to the end that progression is not always fully fleshed out, so in ways big and small it may feel as if the plot is making less convincing hops of Movie Magic to advance. With just a little more time spent on the screenplay developing the characters, the relationships between them, and the plot, this would have risen even higher in my estimation.
With that having been said, though, 'Japan organized crime boss' is splendidly sharp in every other regard, and for that matter even better than I may have expected. It's a crime flick superbly balanced between quieter dramatic scenes, action-ready sequences of violence, and slight thriller airs, boasting meaningful themes and eliciting earnest feelings. Exciting and entertaining as it may be at times, ultimately this is a rather downbeat feature as notions presented early on grow more emphatic in due course: Tsukamoto is released from prison and seems unenthusiastic about continuing to be involved with yakuza, yet he is drawn back in all the same amidst bitter rivalries, ugly fights, and hit jobs that leave no one untouched. There are times when I'm reminded of 'The godfather' to come a few years later, not only in terms of the kindred subject matter but also the bigger underlying thoughts and general vibes, and I think that's surely speaks well to Fukasaku and his collaborators.
While I think the writing may have benefited from a smidgen more refinement, the story is otherwise solid and absorbing, with excellent characters and rich scene writing. Exposition in the first few minutes is kind of unwieldy as figures are introduced in a rush, but thereafter the pacing and plot development are just fine; at points it may come across that the violence among the feuding clans is shortchanged as we get mere flashes, but as later instances are more prolonged and upfront, we must be glad that not all of it is given the same extensive treatment. Fukasaku's direction is unfailingly strong in realizing the tableau with bold yet nuanced tones, and the acting is just as fantastic. Not to discount anyone else on hand, but Tsuruta Koji definitely stands out most as Tsukamoto, not just because of his prominence but for the poise and often subtle emotional depth that he brings to the role. I think it's quite a pleasure to watch Tsuruta, really, in a manner that isn't true of all actors.
The sets and filming locations are great, and the costume design crisp and vivid. The stunts, effects, and action sequences are plainly superb, and Tanaka Osamu's editing seems especially tight to me as it helps to sustain the vitality of the proceedings. When all is said and done I really like 'Japan organized crime boss,' and it strikes some extra potent notes at various points throughout its ninety-seven minutes. Just as much to the point, for a filmmaker whose oeuvre ranges from yakuza pictures, to space operas, to fantasy adventure, to apocalyptic drama, I think this again illustrates Fukasaku's versatility. I repeat that I wish the writing were more polished, but even with some slight weak spots, much more than not the sum total is enjoyable and satisfying. Unless one has a specific impetus to watch there's not necessarily a need to go out of one's way for it, but if you do have the chance to watch then I think this is well worth checking out.
Tokyo Fist (1995)
A wild, unexpectedly electrifying ride, with all Tsukamoto's usual flair
Lest one think subject matter grounded in real life, like boxing and interpersonal drama, would temper Tsukamoto Shinya's unmistakable style of film-making, let's lay those thoughts to rest right now. We're treated to the same rapid cuts that result in a frenetic look and feel, and loose, handheld camerawork that feels informal, personal, and confrontational, and which further lends to that frenetic tenor. We absolutely get some blood and gore among other stunts and practical effects, and the quick sequences of stop-motion animation that he perfected in his famous breakthrough 'Tetsuo: The iron man,' not to mention very specific choices of lighting to help foster dark overtones. For good measure, add in an original score that often directly or indirectly echoes the harsh industrial music proliferate in the man's best known works; industrial, brutalist, or urban imagery; and enthusiastic overacting wherever it may be appropriate. 'Tokyo fist' may play in a different genre space, but Tsukamoto's stamp is all over it, even including a subtler variation on the theme of transformation that is paramount in a fair portion of his oeuvre.
With all this well in mind I can understand how the filmmaker's tendencies won't appeal to all comers, and I'm not about to sit here and say that the picture is a pure must-see. There are also small touches of homophobia scattered herein that really haven't aged well; this may have been the 90s, but folks should know better. All the same II find myself rather pleased with how good it is, and I think Tsukamoto's brand of film-making and storytelling manages to work pretty well in this instance. The root story is a suitable melodrama in which outwardly mild-mannered office worker Tsuda comes into conflict with old friend Kojima, chiefly but not exclusively over beautiful Hizuru. Layered atop this foundation are the efforts by all three characters to wildly remake themselves, and with the flourishes for which Tsukamoto is known, the resulting tableau is characterized in large part by the vibes that conventionally belong to more violent, far-flung, action-packed genres. It's an interesting blend that shifts somewhat between tones, but it all fits together surprisingly well.
I do think the writing is uneven and imperfect - maybe even ultimately a little unsophisticated, truthfully - and the storytelling could have been tightened and refined. This applies to the filmmaker's sequencing, too, which seems a smidgen disjointed. Be that as it may, the core of the feature is marvelously strong. The central narrative is compelling and satisfying, and more than it may seem at first blush; the scene writing is smart and flavorful. As Tsukamoto wears multiple hats, as he commonly does with his endeavors, his versatility is without question, including his direction and cinematography. Especially as the journeys of their characters more or less escalate in the latter half I think the cast give excellent, vibrant performances to bring their characters and the story to life, quite naturally including Tsukamoto himself, his brother Koji, and definitely co-star Fujii Kahori (among others). Terrific production design and art direction adjoin fantastic filming locations, and from costume design to gnarly special makeup and practical effects, 'Tokyo fist' looks all-around great. Further factor in good use of sound and Ishikawa Chu's swell music, and I think this is a movie that kind of grows on you.
It has some shortcomings, it's a bit garish at times, and neither the violence nor Tsukamoto's personal style will appeal to all comers. To the same point, while the sum total shares considerable kinship with the filmmaker's other works, it remains true that this is in some measure a different type of title. Nonetheless, I sat to watch with expectations that were a tad mixed, and at length I'm very pleased with how sharp it turned out to be. Strictly speaking I should maybe be viewing the whole with more criticism, yet the fact is that this flick carries itself with a vehemence, and and a ferocious energy, that helps its value to outshine its less sure-footed facets. It's the application of outrageous horror sensibilities to a premise that's fairly ordinary, and when all is said and done 'Tokyo fist' is striking and evocative in a way that makes me kind of love it. One should be well aware of Tsukamoto's proclivities before watching, and I'm not saying the film is a total revelation, but if you do have the opportunity to watch, it's unique, memorable, and invigorating, not to mention entertaining and satisfying, and I'm happy to give 'Tokyo fist' my hearty recommendation.
Ten to Chi to (1990)
Phenomenal battle sequences and visuals vs. otherwise highly questionable treatment
Sometimes it feels like a disadvantage to watch as many movies as I do, and as huge a variety. I've watched revered jidaigeki classics from the likes of Kurosawa Akira and Kobayashi Masaki; I've watched middling U. S. action flicks and B-movies, including some that to one degree or another play loosely and indifferently with aesthetics lifted from Japan or China. Maybe it has something to do with the production having filmed in Canada, and I double and triple-checked to try to be sure that I wasn't missing some crucial detail - but in watching this 1990 period piece, frankly I discern as many similarities with the latter as with the former. There is a jarring discrepancy between those facets that unquestionably reflect earnest mindful care, and those that seem to have received the benefit of notably less attention or resources. The sum total is still enjoyable in some measure, but there's a clash of styles and quality throughout the whole runtime that makes me feel as if I were watching two different versions of the same film smashed together into one. It's kind of unpleasant and uncomfortable, and not in a manner that has anything to do with the ugliness of war as depicted herein. I'm glad that I watched, but how much is that really saying?
The foremost visuals and ardor of the production unmistakably belong to the cinema of filmmaker Kadokawa Haruki and his countrymen, and there was seemingly no expense spared. Epic battle scenes are rendered with countless horses and extras, thousands of props, weapons, and suits of armor, and the magnificence of enormous battlefields. The stunts, effects, choreography, and otherwise action sequences are outstanding and invigorating, and one wishes that we saw still more of them. This is to say nothing, broadly, of the terrific production design and art direction. The sets are utterly fantastic, and likewise the costume design, hair, and makeup. The filming locations are plainly gorgeous. At its best Kadokawa's direction is impeccable in orchestrating shots and scenes, and the cinematography is unfailingly smart, whether we're watching stark violence unfold or a quiet scene of dialogue between two characters. 'Heaven and Earth' is beautifully shot, and it's a sight for sore eyes that in its fundamental presentation fits right in with esteemed classics like Kurosawa's epics 'Ran,' or 'Kagemusha.'
On the other hand, this Japanese picture, that was filmed in the Japanese language, includes narration in English from a man whose timbre recalls Peter Falk narrating 'The Princess Bride,' but with a less sincere diction. The music is defined largely by so-so MIDI themes produced on a keyboard that would feel more at home in a low-grade sci-fi flick, or maybe a PC videogame from the early to mid-90s, and the drama and thrills are sadly undercut to a considerable extent. The editing and sequencing come off as a little brusque and sometimes sloppy, a far cry from the meticulous craftsmanship we expect based on jidaigeki from the previous several decades. Even if we make allowances for weak translation in subtitles to convey information in a different language, every now and again the dialogue comes off as weirdly oversimplified and dull, and the same verbiage could be applied to the scene writing. Actually, I'm not so impressed with the screenplay at all; Kadokawa, Kamata Toshio, Keynji Chogoro, and Yoshiwara Isao give us a feature that majorly emphasizes its battles, and the otherwise grandeur of the visuals, while oddly skimping on the plot that provides context for what we're watching. Case in point, Usami is treated so lightly in the script that his actions relative to Kagetora pretty much seem to come out of nowhere, and there is absolutely no weight behind what happens between the two men. In another example, a supporting character that is important to a primary one dies off-screen, but since they were barely part of the tale to begin with, their loss means nothing to the audience. The story requires these events to transpire, and so they do, but the incidence holds no water.
Further complicating matters, though Kadokawa arranges scenes in general, battle scenes particularly, and wide, sweeping vistas with a mind for that visual splendor, in the smaller, more specific instances of guiding his cast and informing the camerawork, to be honest his work comes across as halfhearted and middling. The final scene between Usami and Kagetora is executed with sloth and apparent hesitance that has nothing to do with the emotions the figures may be feeling and everything to do with how actors Enoki Takaaki and Watase Tsunehiko are moving and expressing themselves. Later, as the camera slowly revolves around Enoki in a somber moment, it is with a speed that undercuts the drama of the beat. The action sequences are truly phenomenal, and the overall excellence of the the sights to greet us no less so in a production that was accordingly massively expensive by any prior standards of the Japanese industry. So why does it seem as if the title was shortchanged with regards to the minutiae that help to bring the best value to bear? Did those involved have a very limited skill set that resulted in this dichotomy? Was the budget so pointedly devoted to the battles and visuals that all other elements were bereft, and the contributors had to make do? In one fashion or another, there are two halves that comprise the whole that is 'Heaven and Earth,' and they are not equal, identical halves.
For what it does well I want to like this far, far more than I do; I cannot overstate how superb the battle sequences are, likely among the very, very best that have ever been produced in the medium. For where it strangely falls short, sacrificing other key aspects to hyper-focus on the battles and visuals, I'm aghast, and flummoxed. The disparity is glaring, and the movie in its entirety is gravely diminished in turn. Had all components been treated with equal skill, intelligence, and care, 'Heaven and Earth' would surely be hailed as one of the greatest pictures ever made; having not received the benefit of labor applied equally across the board, my favor drops precipitously. For as great as those battles and visuals are, it's not as if we can't get similar ardor elsewhere. The number of reasons there are to watch this instead of anything else are few. I do like this feature, but I also can't help wondering if I'm being to kind in my assessment. Do check it out, by all means, and for the especial parts that I've noted - but be well aware that 'Heaven and Earth' is a title split in two, and it is in turn both stupendous and tiresome.
Ôritsu uchûgun Oneamisu no tsubasa (1987)
Terrific potential in concept, scant actual value
Just because a movie may be generally well-regarded doesn't mean that it will appeal equally to all comers. Just because a movie may have been ground-breaking of revolutionary upon release doesn't mean it will continue to hold up in subsequent years. Just because a movie has been influential for filmmakers who followed in its footsteps does not mean that such a movie in and of itself bears enduring value. When I first began watching this movie my swift first reaction was to flinch with a mixture of aghast disgust and disbelief at how bad it looked and sounded. That reaction, unfortunately, did not improve, and sometimes the film inspired mocking laughter. Though I gather that its reception has been mixed since the time of its release and even in retrospect, I also recognize that some noteworthy figures have spoken highly of 'Royal Space Force.' For my part, while I don't think it's wholly rotten, I find myself deeply unconvinced, and I actually rather regret spending two hours here.
Full disclosure, it was an English dub that I watched. I don't like dubbing. I guess it's acceptable when done well - but then, this was not done well. Dull, disinterested, and feebly incapable of expressing emotion, this is the type of utterly rotten dubbing that gives dubbing a bad name, replete with flubbed lines and awkward pauses in addition to bad voice acting. No, I'm not going to hold this against the film too much since the dubbing isn't the fault of anyone who worked on the Japanese production. While I don't know if I should, I will also grant allowances for the possibility that the original work was mangled and re-edited in preparation for international audiences. Yet such generosity doesn't help this picture's odds.
Just as the voice acting in the dub is often painful when it comes to imparting any feelings, the dialogue and animation also conflict sometimes with what they're trying to convey, whether we're talking about facial expressions or body language. The feature further falters with a flummoxing lack of vitality, usually practically trundling along with casual indifference no matter what's happening in a scene. That dearth exacerbates already weak pacing by which the proceedings pointlessly drone on, nearly becoming soporific. Maybe this wouldn't matter so much if the writing were stronger, but as far as I'm concerned the dialogue is terrible, if not also desperately heavy-handed, and the character writing is astoundingly gauche and thin. The scene writing commonly raises a skeptical eyebrow as it presents, and at worst can't hold any water. I recognize commendable themes and ideas in the narrative, but with all the stunning shortcomings that plague the title in other regards, the story receives achingly poor treatment, and I just want it to be over.
I'm decidedly unimpressed with the sequencing and editing that questionably chops up the storytelling. Some of the music is adequate, and some of it is tiresomely subpar. Even Yamaga Hiroyuki's direction just leaves me feeling exhausted rather than engaged, let alone excited. Is there anything here that concretely earns meaningful praise? It's definitely not the character designs, and less so the character animation. I suppose the settings, environments, and painted backgrounds are a sight for sore eyes, and benefit from excellent detail. The same goes for other active animated elements, such as a train, and a couple action sequences. But wait: is this really the most positive verbiage I have to offer? Nice backgrounds, a train, and two action sequences? Other animated titles had already been finding far greater success for years - in every capacity, including writing. Otomo Katsuhiro's adaptation of his own 'Akira,' released merely one year later, completely blows 'Royal Space Force' out of the proverbial water in every way, connoting a massive gulf between these two productions that are essentially contemporaries. All told, yes, I think that is the most positive verbiage I have to offer.
I read about what others have said of this flick and I was enticed; I sat to watch with expectations that were mixed to high. I see the bigger thoughts and ideas that this tries to broach, many all too relevant to real life, and I believe the concept had really wonderful potential. I also think the movie mostly flounders when it comes to actually communicating its ideas, or really, when it comes to doing much of anything. I more or less anticipated appreciating this, and I do not. If you're one of those viewers who really does enjoy 'Royal Space Force,' and finds it satisfying and rewarding, then I'm genuinely happy for you. My own opinion is that this is a humdrum, so-so, vexing dud with no worth that we can't get elsewhere, and one's time is better spent watching another film in the first place. Oh well.
Cube: Ichido haittara, saigo (2021)
Thin character writing becomes the downfall of an overlong, unnecessary remake
It's been a long time since I last watched it, but I'm a huge fan of Vincenzo Natali's original 1997 film. It's unique, smart, and imaginative, and it very much caught my attention when I first saw it in the late 90s and whenever I've seen it again. No, I've not seen either of the "sequels" to follow in the 2000s, but Natali's progenitor remains a sci-fi horror-thriller that I think about a lot. I was chuffed to learn it was getting a Japanese remake - not because I'm especially keen on remakes at large (the opposite, actually), but rather, no one does horror quite like Japanese filmmakers do. What might 'Cube' look like twenty-four years later in the hands of Shimizu Yasuhiko? Well, the good news is that if you like 'Cube,' you're getting more 'Cube.' Shimizu's 'Cube' reflects love for Natali's 'Cube' and its inventive concept. The bad news is that Shimizu and writer Tokuo Koji drew the wrong lessons from that prior ingenuity, because when I say that this 2021 feature is a remake, I mean that in some ways it is nearly an exact duplicate of what Natali gave us with co-writers André Bijelic and Graeme Manson. And where this rendition does differentiate itself, it's with expansion on ideas that take the storytelling in an ill-advised direction. This doesn't mean that the new iteration isn't still enjoyable or worthwhile on some level. It does mean that it's frankly unnecessary, and simply not as enjoyable or worthwhile as the film it's reimagining.
Granted, it's certainly not as if the Japanese version is a shot for shot recreation. New traps were devised to fill some of the rooms, or even just updated visions of some we've seen before, and with these comes an opportunity to foster tension and suspense even as we know the broad story. The rooms have a different visual design. We get some filler shots of computer-generated imagery, existing outside the boundaries of the small group of characters and their path, that I actually don't think were necessary as they reinforce the sci-fi angle; there are times when this 'Cube' definitely recalls the wild creations of contemporaries like Miike Takashi, for better and or worse. The audio is crystal clear, and the sound effects lend to the viewing experience more than I think was true before. Overall I do like Yamada Yutaka's score, flavorful as it complements the proceedings, though I think it's a bit of a mixed bag: the more atmospheric themes are superb, be they harsh and searing, emotive, or otherwise primed to help build pressure; the more melodic themes, however, and those that employ EDM beats, may be swell in and of themselves but aren't fully appropriate to the broad tenor in the first place, and in some specific instances are pointedly ill-fitting.
If all that comes off as a grab bag, though, unfortunately it gets worse from there. Some scenes and characterizations are taken quite directly from the 1997 origin, not to mention the general thrust of the plot. Some of those characterizations are twisted into new directions, or expanded upon, or receive heavier focus, and I do think there were some good ideas as far as these go. Case in point, to some degree the new material that Tokuo infuses into the proceedings bears its best potential when zeroing in on how the personalities and histories of the characters make them as much of a danger to each other as the traps. This is hardly the first horror flick to explore that notion, and indeed, Natali touched upon this in some measure. Yet to be blunt, Tokuo's character writing is entirely too thin and unconvincing to carry the weight of the plot they are made to shoulder, and this ultimately becomes the critical downfall of the whole picture.
We're treated to many scattered shots and brief scenes portending characters' memories and backstories, and at first they just come off as misguided additions to pad out the length in a fashion that we commonly criticize when, say, international movies get a Hollywood remake. Were that the case, I would say that these tangential story beats would be worth pursuing in another title, but here they kill the pacing and momentum instead of heightening the stakes. However, what at first seems tangential and misguided increasingly becomes a major facet of the narrative, placing at least as much emphasis on the characters if not more than on the titular structure(s). As the character writing is insufficient to hold any proverbial water, the characters just become kind of annoying, and then the dialogue; some of the actors do fine, and some of the direction is fine, but some actors are given dubiously little to do, some of the direction must overcompensate, and the acting suffers in turn. It's hard to care about these insubstantial characters, and as the plot begins to center them more than their geometric nightmare, it becomes easy to somewhat check out. That might be recommended, actually, because when late in the runtime one actor is given a ranting screed to recite, the dialogue almost comes off like a block of text cobbled together by "generative artificial intelligence" from manifestos scraped off the Internet.
Natali's 'Cube' succeeded because it was the straightforward story of a group of strangers finding themselves in an extraordinary, deadly scenario, and they butted heads as they exercised their capabilities to try to find their way out while speculating on their situation. It was fit and trim at ninety minutes. This is essentially all that Shimizu's 'Cube' needed to be, albeit with new thoughts to distinguish itself, and with the expectation that, like much of Japanese horror otherwise, the violence, blood, and gore would probably be more extreme. Shimizu's 'Cube' instead veers off more in the direction of "who are worse, the monsters or the people?" - but without the strength to make that approach work. Shimizu's direction is technically proficient, the cast do the best they can with the material, Tokuo has some good ideas, and all those operating behind the scenes turned in excellent work: effects practical and digital, stunts, sound, cinematography, and absolutely the sets and lighting. Without a script that can make any of it count, however, the end result is sadly middling and disappointing, and 108 minutes feel longer than they are.
I don't completely dislike this 2021 remake. But I regret to say that in all honesty, one is likely better served by just rewatching the 1997 movie. Check it out if you want, and may you get more out of it than I do, but in my opinion there's just not enough value here to warrant spending the time.
Dodesukaden (1970)
Overall swell, but uneven & imperfect; not up to the expected Kurosawa standard
For as highly esteemed as Kurosawa Akira was and remains, and very deservedly so, it's sobering to learn of the dire low point he was at in his career and life around the time this was made and released. For all the lauded classics he directed, sights unseen one has to wonder just what happened with 'Dodes'ka-den' that it had such a middling reception; how might it hold up years later? One readily discerns that it marks a significant stylistic departure for the filmmaker, what with there being no specific, single protagonist or linear narrative. Other filmmakers emerging circa 1970 found considerable success in taking the approach this does: offering a portraiture of the varied lives, hopes, dreams, troubles, and toils of a loose collection of people connected in some manner, in this case the fact of all living in a ramshackle shantytown. Titles of a similar nature continue to find success, with Paul Haggis' 'Crash' of 2004 being an approximate example. For Kurosawa, however, this was a bold risk far removed from his most renowned and celebrated works. I'm not saying that this in and of itself is a bad thing, but one has to consider if they're receptive to the approach, and there remains the question of how well it might be tackled by someone who otherwise operated in a more tried and true storytelling method.
There is absolutely value in the broad concept: showing the diversity of people within an area, how every life has a story worth telling, and how people can be interconnected. But strictly speaking, just how strong is the writing? How compelling are the life stories of fictional characters, presented as a cinematic treatment, especially when compared to the life stories of real people that foster a sense of empathy, understanding, and community? How rich are the scene writing and characterizations? How well is the concept executed with regards to sequencing and editing, and the direction that facilitates the fundamental tone and energy of the proceedings? All this, including the individual life stories, sounds pretty fantastic on paper, or at least sounds fantastic as ideas worth exploring. And very generally, I think Kurosawa's film is fine. Unfortunately, for a filmmaker who stunned again and again with many of his features, and who made many features I would unquestionably place on my personal shortlist of the best ever made, "fine" is a substantial, disappointing step down. The understated tone swings wildly, and there is weirdly little vitality to be found in the drama across nearly two and one-half hours. Some characters are so rich that we are easily invested in them, not least wise, humble Tanba; other characters are not so well written, and it's difficult to care about them as figures in a fictional tableau.
Some thoughts herein are downright brilliant, and others are ripe for storytelling; elsewhere the doing is passive and unremarkable, and I just feel sadly indifferent. With all this firmly in mind, I think the biggest selling point for this picture is the acting. At large everyone gives a swell performance to realize their characters, and it is perhaps regrettable that the writing and execution isn't more robust such that their portrayals would shine more brightly. In the very least, the potency of each tale, and of the acting, is diminished as the proceedings bounce back and forth. Akutagawa Hiroshi gives an incredible, haunted performance as Hei, and Naraoka Tomoko's turn as Ocho is flush with difficult emotions. Minami Shinsuke's depiction of upbeat Ryotaro buzzes with good vibes as he wears a happy face for the children he raises, a contrast with the underlying circumstances; Watanabe Atsushi is a steadfast anchor as compassionate Tanba; and so on. For as much as the actors do to carry the movie, though, it comes across that no one is receiving the full benefit of how their characters and narrative threads may have been handled; sometimes, by one means or another, we see acting or direction that just feels bizarrely insufficient. The viewing experience, in turn - however much we may admire Kurosawa, and find lasting worth in 'Dodes'ka-den' - simply isn't as absorbing, impactful, or satisfying as it could have been.
This is definitely well made in other capacities, including truly outstanding, imaginative art direction, detailed costume design, and sharp sound. I appreciate the cinematography of Saito Takao and Fukuzawa Yasumichi, and while Takemitsu Toru's music mostly sticks to the background it is roundly excellent, especially at its most subtle. And in total fairness, as the saga progresses and we head toward the last 45-60 minutes of the runtime, the course of events across each vignette indisputably tends to become more intensely dramatic - and outright dour, truthfully. As they do the piece at last achieves more of the meaningful weight and gravity we wish we had been getting all along; we do, in time, see the Kurosawa we know and love, in every element. It's so deeply lamentable, then, that for too much of the runtime, 'Dodes'ka-den' doesn't make the same impression we're used to. I'm given to understand that the man wasn't really even behaving like himself during filming, further reflecting the terrible funk he was in around this period. It seems reasonable enough to suppose that the filmmaker's poor mental health affected the script he penned with regular collaborators Hashimoto Shinobu and Oguni Hideo, and undoubtedly his direction. Perhaps we should be thankful that the feature still turned out as good as it did, imperfect and uneven as it may be.
I don't think this is bad. It remains worthwhile on its own merits, and if most anyone else had made it, we would likely be heralding 'Dodes'ka-den' as a splendid accomplishment. I think the end result suffered from a concatenation of bad circumstances, however, and having been made by one of the greatest directors in the world, it just altogether falls short of the immense level of quality we rightly anticipate. For what the film does well at its best I want to like it much more than I do, yet the problems with which it struggles plainly limit my favor, and at that maybe I'm being a tad too kind. I'm glad for those who find the sum total to be a more rewarding viewing experience than I do; I'm inclined to believe that unless one is specifically a fan of Kurosawa or someone else involved, this isn't something that demands viewership. Check it out, by all means, for it is is deserving in some measure. But save 'Dodes'ka-den' for a lazy day - and in an unlikely move for Kurosawa, maybe temper your expectations.
Kaidan (1964)
Exquisite, perfect, masterful; a horror film like no other
Kobayashi Masaki may not have the same name recognition as some of his fellow countrymen, but one doesn't need to go very far in exploring his career to understand what a superb filmmaker he was. With this feature having received both recognition at Cannes and a nomination at the U. S. Academy Awards - rare for horror, and for an anthology no less - it gets our attention before we even sit to watch. And once we do begin, that high esteem is swiftly confirmed even within the first segment. I would expect nothing less from the man who gave us the phenomenal 'Harakiri' of 1962, but 'Kwaidan' is as exceptionally well made as it is deeply engrossing and quietly chilling, and my admiration for Kobayashi only grows.
It's not that the movie is ever outwardly frightening or immediately visceral in the fashion we ordinarily associate with the genre. In fact, this uniformly takes the exact opposite approach, and that is exactly why it so greatly succeeds. The proceedings are defined by a heavily muted tone if not a reverberating, all-consuming silence, a hush that itself is unnatural and foreboding. That hush is penetrated only with utmost judiciousness by scattered, disquieting ambient sound effects, and by the exquisite original music of composer Takemitsu Toru. This isn't your ordinary film score, either, for even as it bears some kinship with the works of other Japanese composers it is dominated by harsh, piercing sounds that keep us on edge, and by unnerving soundscapes that layer on oppressive, terrible atmosphere of a level unmatched by nearly any writer, filmmaker, or composer except horror maestro John Carpenter. To my absolute pleasure, a piece woven into the very narrative of the third segment has the same wonderfully arresting effect, a credit as well to performer Nakamura Katsuo. By the power of the audio alone the picture is extraordinarily unsettling as soon as it begins, and it really never lets up. Rather, considering all other factors, the picture only ever intensifies.
Every other aspect of 'Kwaidan' is approached with the same painstaking calculation for unyielding, permeating atmosphere within a deliberate, emphatically subdued tenor. Both Kobayashi's direction and Miyajima Yoshio's cinematography can be described as meticulous. Artistic, and patient - how often is "patient" used when speaking of movies? - and where atypical techniques are employed (including Dutch angles made famous by the likes of 'The third man') they unfailingly feel more meaningful here. Whether we're looking to the truly gorgeous, astoundingly detailed and imaginative sets, painted backgrounds that are not just vibrant and beautiful but altogether otherworldly, or other minutiae, the production design and art direction are all but peerless. The costume design, hair, and makeup are no less lovely, and actually are just as important and stupendous as anything else in these three hours as they very concretely play directly into the storytelling at times. Even Sagara Hisashi's editing and the careful consideration for lighting are impeccably shrewd, and critical to the grand achievement that the title invariably reveals itself to be again and again.
As if any contribution in 'Kwaidan' were less than stellar, the cast give tremendous performances that further feed into and reinforce the brilliant low-key sensibilities with which this was made. The acting is consistently reserved, befitting the underhanded soft feel of the proceedings, but is characterized at all times by utterly terrific range, nuance, emotional depth, and physicality. One is surely reminded of the most thoughtfully restrained portrayals seen in fare that is commonly regarded with more prestige, like Stanley Kubrick's 'Barry Lyndon' or the works of Kurosawa Akira; that we're seeing this in a horror film makes it all the more striking. To the same point, the pacing is decidedly gentle, downplaying whatever the tone and all other elements do not already, but all this lends only more to the thick, delicious atmosphere that pervades the length, and as such that length passes all so smoothly. And it is that precise tack, that elegant and discreet suppression, within which said bounteous atmosphere is able to manifest, and by which the feature is able to have such profound impact. No, 'Kwaidan' doesn't serve us abject thrills - it takes the smarter, more high-minded, more refined, and more difficult path of being inescapably haunting, if not outright hair-raising, with its laboriously designed, fastidiously moderated storytelling and craftsmanship. In so doing, it easily outshines the vast preponderance of anything that might ever share the same labels of broad categorization.
Each of these four tales carries a slightly different vibe, providing some measure of variety not just in the narratives themselves but in the subtle feelings they evoke. "The black hair" kicks off the viewing experience with a pointedly spine-tingling story; "The woman of the snow" starts off with similar vitality before largely shifting into a supernatural saga of a more distinctly understated bent. The latter could initially be said of "Hoichi the Earless," but it increasingly bears facets that are concretely disconcerting, swells into an extended, genuinely horrifying crescendo, and ultimately leaves us perturbed with a sense of having been transported. In a sagacious mirror of the overall trajectory, bringing us full circle, fourth and final segment "In a cup of tea" more closely echoes "The black hair" by relating a story that is again more plainly, outwardly creepy. All along the way, Mizuki Yoko can claim nothing if not a fabulously compelling narrative, magnificently strong scene writing, and rich characters and dialogue in his screenplay. Across the board, each tale boasts that same exemplary atmosphere, fostered and maintained with the scrupulously managed tone and pacing; each gradually lays in its foundation and builds until the exact psychological moment to astonish. Throughout all three hours 'Kwaidan' is marked with the unswerving, unassailable skill, intelligence, care, and hard work of all involved, with Kobayashi overseeing the production with the finesse and proficiency of a true master with few equals.
And why, for all this, I've not even mentioned the stunts and effects, usually a major component of any horror feature. Such is the manner in which this one was crafted, however, that such matters are actually the least of what comes to our attention - which is not to say that they are anything less than super, but only to say that everything else about 'Kwaidan' is just that outstanding. I anticipated enjoying this, and still I'm blown away by just how good it is. In every capacity I can't fathom describing this picture as anything but a masterpiece, probably standing alone even among the very best of all horror flicks. This is hardly to try to compare Kobayashi's film to anything in the bodies of work of Carpenter, David Cronenberg, Neil Marshall, or anyone else who labors predominantly in such spaces, for the disparity in style is simply that immense, yet that is exactly why Kobayashi's film is so singular. For any number of reasons I can understand how it won't appeal to all comers, nor meet with equal favor, yet I am so incredibly pleased with the unwavering excellence, and surely anyone who is receptive to the more discriminating side of cinema will find much to love here. All I know is that I'm overjoyed with how absorbing and satisfying 'Kwaidan' is, and I'm all too happy to give it my very high, hearty, and enthusiastic recommendation!
Kozure Ôkami: Jigoku e ikuzo! Daigorô (1974)
Overall well done and enjoyable, though possibly the weakest of the series
Though it still has the backing of Katsu and Toho, it's noteworthy that this sixth and final entry in the classic 'Lone wolf and cub' series saw the most significant personnel changes among them all. Kuroda Yoshiyuki directs in the series for the first time; composer Murai Kunihiko takes over from series regular Sakurai Eiken; above all, previous co-writer Nakamura Tsutomu now has the sole writing credit as manga creator Koike Kazuo has not returned to adapt the script. It's reasonable to ponder what such shifts might mean for the last film, 'White heaven in hell,' and one may be inclined to think we find out at least in part right at the start as the musical accompaniment for the opening credits sequence is straight out of 70s Hollywood exploitation fare. Then again, since its inception this saga has dallied with a mixture of the classic and earnest, somewhat recalling revered jidaigeki of past years, and the self-indulgent, violent spectacle that would in turn inform filmmakers like Miike Takashi and Quentin Tarantino. How would this late chapter ultimately hold up? How would it stack up next to its brethren? Happily, despite some gaucheness that may present - in fairness, not entirely different than what we've gotten before - this picture is definitely kith and kin with its predecessors, and at length it's as entertaining as we would hope.
I mean no disrespect to Murai when I say that his score might actually be the weakest link in this chain. It's not specifically bad per se, and it's not as if the franchise wasn't prone to extravagant tendencies heretofore. However, the flavors of Murai's most overt themes are unquestionably a step beyond even the most wild creative choices made elsewhere throughout these productions (like all the doodads outfitting Daigoro's cart), and there's a certain clash of tones. His contribution isn't the only extravagant tendency on hand, though, for the plot also trades to a substantial degree in mysticism and black magic that quite surpass the intimations of deep-seated spirituality that may have occasionally popped up before. I'm not familiar with Koike's manga so I don't know whether or not this is an element that was more visible in the rendition of another medium, and I'm not at all opposed to t he infusion of fantasy in my action-adventure - in fact, I greatly appreciate it - but the fact of the matter is that the inclusion here is decidedly well removed from the approach taken in the five preceding cinematic treatments. 'White heaven in hell' could have been a sixth film that realized the Tsuchigumo in a manner that sidestepped their sorcerous powers, or it might have been a standalone feature that completely embraced that fancifulness, but it is arguably less convincing as it aims to be both.
Still, maybe I'm overreaching in my criticism. I don't know if some odds and ends were the best path forward for this flick, but by and large it's just as terrific as its antecedents. Why, in at least one regard this may genuinely have a leg up on the others, for the Tsuchigumo represent a terrible threat to protagonist Itto and son Daigoro, and those around them, to an extent that the franchise hadn't achieved previously. Itto and Daigoro find themselves in dire straits facing down a unique, unparalleled enemy, and the stakes for the titular duo have truly never been higher. With that core established it may also be the case that the narrative is more tightly focused than it has been. Father and son remain central to the proceedings, and likewise Itto's troubles with the duplicitous Yagyu clan, yet the story has more or less been reduced to its most compact representation to accentuate the viciousness and danger of the Tsuchigumo, and the escalation of Itto's struggle against his foes. This applies to all components of the screenplay, really a tremendous credit to Nakamura, and even with its more questionable bits and pieces the result is highly engaging, absorbing, entertaining, and even thrilling. As viewers we love most of all those movies that we consider flawless, but it also says something special about a movie for its distinct strengths and value to be able to shine so luminously despite equally distinct faults.
In every other capacity 'White heaven in hell' is as reliably superb as its forebears. The filming locations are gorgeous, and the sets, costume design, hair, makeup, props, and weapons are flush with incredible detail. The effects (of course including blood and gore), stunts, choreography, and action sequences are excellent and invigorating, and the cast give perfectly solid performances across the board to bring the tableau to life. Outside of its most dubious phrases Murai's music is just as grabbing and rich as Sakurai's; among the returning crew, Makiura Chishi's cinematography and Taniguchi Toshio's editing are as sharp as ever. The same goes for Kuroda's direction. I think the immediate conflict here with the Tsuchigumo could have been drawn out more so as to accentuate Itto's toils, but still I admire that portion of the tale; the climax frankly echoes the wholly far-fetched gaudiness of the worst frivolities of Roger Moore's time in Eon Productions' James Bond franchise, but still I concede that the sequence is well done just as it is. Given Itto's driving purpose since the first installment of January 1972 I wonder if it wouldn't have been better to give this last installment a more conclusive ending, or at least an ending that wasn't so near to the tropes of a Saturday morning cartoon, but then there's also something to be said for leaving the last minutes open-ended in the eventuality that more may have been produced.
What it comes down to is that this title is a mixed bag, and possibly more so than any of the other 'Lone wolf and cub' films. For the excess that it carries at its worst, I wonder if I'm not being too kind in my assessment; for what it does well, I want to like it more than I do. Considering the significant high quality of the rest of the series it isn't necessarily saying much to suggest that 'White heaven in hell' is the lesser of the six; it might be more meaningful to say that it doesn't necessarily carry the same weight in its themes and storytelling, even where it succeeds the most. I really do like this, and I just wish that where it is less sure-footed, more care had been taken such that it would have met the same level as its fellows. Of all these pictures I'm positive that this is the one that least demands our viewership - especially unfortunate since I think the fifth, 'Baby cart in the land of demons,' may have been the very best of them all - but even at that, it's well done overall, and enjoyable. In this instance one may not need to go out of their way to see it, but if you've already made it to this point in the series, it behooves one to finish the set. Just as much to the point, while it's a step down, 'White heaven in hell' is still worth watching on its own merits, so just sit back, relax, and enjoy the show to come your way.
Kozure Ôkami: Meifumadô (1973)
A stellar, exciting, deeply compelling classic, surpassing its already great predecessors
Five 'Lone wolf and cub' films in eighteen months is no mean feat, and I can only commend Katsu and Toho for their commitment. Previous installment 'Baby cart in peril' maintained the broad vibes of the series even as Saito Buichi stepped in as director, and with Misumi Kenji returning for his fourth installment in the saga, with many other contributors returning, we can be assured of a continued united vision. And so it is: the classic jidaigeki roots of the storytelling and its presentation are adjoined with spectacle and showmanship befitting the self-proclaimed cinephile filmmakers and exploitation cinema that this would inspire and recall. It's true that there is a degree of formula among these movies as the plot follows a general pattern of protagonist Itto - executioner turned assassin and veritable one-man army - being tested for his capabilities, accepting a mission, and pursuing that quest while also looking after son Daigoro and dealing with continued assaults of the Yagyu clan that has conspired against him. Yet each entry also carries little sparks of ingenuity and small variations to set them apart and keep us invested, and the greatest consistency is the very high quality that marks each picture in turn. Happily, 'Baby cart in the land of demons' continues this trend, and I dare say it quickly impresses.
We get all the same elements in one share or another: terrific filming locations, and exquisite craftsmanship in the sets, costume design, hair, makeup, props, and weapons. The effects (including blood and gore), stunts, choreography, and action sequences are sharp and invigorating, and a sense of careful artistry often complements even the most outrageous facets. Returning editor Taniguchi Toshio, new cinematographer Morita Fujio, and certainly director Misumi all turn in fabulously smart work that makes the proceedings pop with life; Sakurai Eiken's score is perhaps more sparing in its dispensation this time, but just as flavorful where it comes into play. The acting is unfailingly excellent as everyone in the cast gives adept performances to suit the needs of any given scene, naturally including returning star Wakayama Tomisaburo and even young Tomikawa Akihiro with their nuanced range and poise, and those in supporting parts of every size such as Sato Tomomi. Scrutinize these features as we may for one perceived shortcoming or another, they routinely bear tremendous production values, and reflect superb skill, intelligence, and care, and 'Baby cart in the land of demons' is no exception.
That leaves the writing and execution, and for all that this title shares in common with its brethren, this might be where it most stands apart as the storytelling carries earnest, refreshing complexity. More than even in immediate predecessor 'Baby cart in peril,' son Daigoro is written as a more fully-fledged character in his own right, clearly learning everything from the father who loves him so deeply yet expresses that love with the reserved stoicism of a warrior. There is a very apparent narrative progression that follows from the events of the fourth installment, or at least very apparent connective threads that draw the overarching saga (beyond the recurring formula and pieces of dialogue). Maybe more than anything else, the plot and its development are drawn out in a more deliberate, gradual, expansive manner that quite reflects a new level of restraint for the series. To some extent each of the five films to this point all feel a bit different from the others, and that is definitely true here. The tale is just as wonderfully compelling, and the scene writing as rich and vibrant as ever, with splendid characterizations and dialogue to round everything out. And with all this firmly in mind, I wonder if this might not be the most balanced, thoughtful entry of them all. All involved follow the lead of chief scribe Koike Kazuo and director Misumi in their judicious, meticulous approach to this portion of the ongoing adaptation, and the result is arguably more satisfying and rewarding than it has been before.
'Lone wolf and cub' holds an esteemed place in culture, and no matter the specifics of our opinions, I don't think there's much disputing that its reputation is well deserved. The only real questions are of the slight differences between each, and of how particular aspects might find us. From one to the next the series may not appeal to all comers for any number of reasons, and still the overall quality is undeniable. For as shrewdly measured as this one is, I couldn't be happier with how fantastic it is. Even at its most extreme (in the third act) I believe 'Baby cart in the land of demons' to be a truly outstanding picture, more than can be said even of its antecedents, and I'm of the opinion that it might be the best of all. Able to stand solidly on its own even while folding into a larger whole, I'm very pleased to give this 1973 classic my high, hearty, and enthusiastic recommendation!
Kozure Ôkami: Oya no kokoro ko no kokoro (1972)
Another outstanding, exciting entry in this classic samurai saga
What's that, you say? Four entries in a franchise released within a single calendar year, and they don't rely on grandiose world-building that requires one to watch a few dozen more hours of movies and TV to keep up? There's an engaging way to push product and there's a tiresome way, and I admire Katsu and Toho for squeezing out four 'Lone wolf and cub' flicks between the beginning of January and the end of December in 1972 that are each as enjoyable and engrossing individually as they are when considered together. 'Baby cart in peril' is even more upfront than its antecedents, immediately launching us into the plot with the opening scene that also guarantees us the violence, blood and gore, and nudity that define the exploitative spectacle for which the series is known. Lest one think this installment is a pure romp, however, it is also unquestionably defined by the capable craftsmanship and visual style that have characterized more prestigious jidaigeki classics. This film is most certainly cut from the same cloth as 'Sword of vengeance,' 'Baby cart at the River Styx,' and 'Baby cart to Hades,' and though the question remains of the exact tack 'Baby cart in peril' will adopt, we are quite assured of the same high-quality entertainment we've come to expect.
Some personnel behind the scenes have moved around, most notably as three-time director Misumi Kenji has gone on to pursue other projects and Saito Buichi takes his place. Even so this picture is just as terrifically well made as those before it, boasting truly fantastic, wonderfully detailed sets, costume design, and hair and makeup. The proliferate blood and gore, otherwise effects, stunts, choreography, and action sequences are all superb, enticing, and invigorating, and it is again true that even at its most extravagant this claims a welcome measure of artistry in how it is put together. That is a credit to new cinematographer Miyagawa Kazuo as much as to new director Saito and returning editor Taniguchi Toshio, and all other contributors, and sort of in a like manner, scribe Koike Kazuo also lends to that bent. Even as the storytelling and overall tone feel more forthright, with swift pacing and self-indulgently elaborate props, weapons, and scenes, there are nice shades of subtlety that peek through here and there, and the writing and execution feel more rich and dynamic. This feature is a bit of a hodgepdge, truthfully, further including flashbacks, somewhat non-linear plot development, and what feels like a more disparate and looser sense of cohesiveness, yet the skill and intelligence of all involved keep the proceedings grounded, and the result is once again upstanding and marvelously entertaining.
Whether we point to new director Saito or the creativity of returning participants, it comes across to some extent that 'Baby cart in peril' was trying something a tad different in its look and feel. What that does mean, if nothing else, is that the fourth title of the series feels fresh again, more vibrant and actively absorbing than the somewhat formulaic immediate forebear. The viewing experience walks a fine line between the careful nuance and refinement of esteemed filmmakers like Kobayashi Masaki or Kurosawa Akira and the wild sensationalism that would in turn influence countless others including Miike Takashi and Quentin Tarantino, and in its own away achieves a special kind of balance. All who helped to bring this to fruition - not least Koike, definitely returning composer Sakurai Eiken with his flavorful music, and even supporting cast member Azuma Michie in her prominent role - just as nimbly walk that line to outstanding success. And still, for all that this single movie says and does, touching upon a wide variety of moods and ideas, it stays smartly anchored not just on account of its general excellence, but also for the themes that are rather central to this entry. The story is again a blend of exploring the core father-son relationship, the bitterness between protagonist Itto and the Yagyu clan that has masterminded the conspiracy against him, and the mission and adventure specific to this portion of the saga. The story also concretely examines cycles of violence, be they out of revenge, for honor, owing to obligation or contract, or following from any other reason. And in so doing it keeps us invested no matter what else is going on.
In keeping with the most far-fetched facets of 'Lone wolf and cub' as a series, the design of Daigoro's cart continues to evolve into a creation that would feel right at home in Eon Productions' James Bond franchise. It should perhaps also be said that the climax revisits the utmost outlandishness of that of the previous feature, for better and for worse. Nevertheless, even here 'Baby cart in peril' is flush with little sparks of brilliance, even in something as simple as how how filming locations are employed. So while we may reasonably scrutinize some elements, the fact invariably remains that this is just what we would want out of the series, and it is just as stupendously compelling and fun as it continues to build up Itto as something of a figure of myth and legend. Eighty-one minutes fly by all too quickly, confirming yet again just how sharp and electrifying the saga is regardless of how we dissect it. Semantics and nitpicking aside, what it comes down to is that this fourth title is a blast, and there's just not really any going wrong with 'Lone wolf and cub.' If one is this far into the ongoing episodic tale then one is fully committed, but one way or another 'Baby cart in peril' is a great time and I'm pleased to give it my high recommendation.
Kozure Ôkami: Shinikazeni mukau ubaguruma (1972)
Another fantastic blend of jidaigeki and exploitation, if arguably a tad lesser this time
Katsu and Toho truly wasted no time in producing these films and getting them out into the world; this was the third installment to see release in 1972, and with all the same principals no less. With this in mind we are assured of the same blend of jidaigeki prestige, represented most famously by such master filmmakers as Kobayashi Masaki and Kurosawa Akira, and the sensationalist mind for exploitation spectacle that has influenced directors such as Miike Takashi and Quentin Tarantino. And so it is, with 'Baby cart to Hades' existing somewhere on the same spectrum as all-out romp 'Sword of vengeance' and its first, finely honed sequel, 'Baby cart at the River Styx.' For my part I don't believe it unreasonable to think this more closely echoes the former, with mindful flashes of the latter: considerable sex and nudity adjoins the strong violence and bloodshed, and overall it is arguably not quite so shrewdly mindful and refined as its immediate predecessor. Yet there comes a point where all such scrutiny becomes nitpicking, and however we wish to categorize it, the fact is that this third entry in the 'Lone wolf and cub' series is gratifyingly strong and absorbing, another fine testament to the skill and intelligence of all involved.
Though in some measure it amounts to splitting hairs, it's surely true that this picture differentiates itself a bit from its elders by rather directly speaking to the imposing, unyielding code of honor that protagonist Ogami Itto steadfastly maintains. Just as Itto's great love for son Daigoro is expressed with utmost reserved stoicism, the delicate touch with which the man's samurai code is broached stands in notable contrast to the most wild, overt sequences that largely characterize the saga. Yet this is no error of tonal discrepancy; it's the exact mixture of the meticulous restraint 'Lone wolf and cub' bears at its most careful and judicious, and the bombastic extravagance of bloodletting and showmanship with which it is marked at its most outrageous, that is exactly what makes these flicks so iconic. The story continues of that father-son relationship, Itto's fight with the Yagyu clan who conspired against him from the start, and of the jobs and adventures he has along the road, and the tale is simply shaped with a particular focus, and with a kind of balance between the approaches taken in the earlier entries of January and April 1972. Him and haw as we may about the particulars, this is another fantastic movie.
However we might debate the finer points, all the same high quality we got before is most assuredly present in these ninety minutes, to varying degrees. The filming locations are beautiful, and no less so the detailed sets, costume design, and hair and makeup. The stunts, effects, fight choreography, and action sequences are outstanding, not to mention the props and weapons that feed into them. Sakurai Eiken's music is flavorful complement, and Makiura Chishi's cinematography and Taniguchi Toshio's editing are as splendidly sharp as Misumi Kenji's direction. Star Wakayama Tomisaburo gives a performance of superb poise and nuance, and all his co-stars are just as reliable; while women tend to be underrepresented in these titles compared to men, Hamada Yuko indisputably stands out with the time she is given as Torizo, just as Matsuo Kayo and Mayama Tomoko had before her in the second and first films, respectively. Koike Kazuo, once again adapting from his own manga, produced a screenplay with a firmly compelling narrative, vibrant scene writing, and dialogue and characterizations that ably round out the proceedings and keep us engaged. Is there any manner in which this isn't well done? I don't think there is.
For any number of reasons, as a matter of personal preference 'Lone wolf and cub' still won't appeal to all, three films in. My personal tastes are to hold 'Baby cart to Hades' with a little less favor than its antecedents - not because it specifically does anything wrong, or marks a step down in value, but just because it seems to me that this isn't as wholly impressive. The stakes don't feel as high for Itto this time around, and the writing and execution comes across as a tad more formulaic and rote. Of course the executioner turned assassin will triumph, why wouldn't he; even when monumentally outnumbered our protagonist prevails as the trope of the unstoppable "one-man army" is fully embraced, and Itto doesn't even necessarily take as many injuries here as he has before. In writing and in execution the doing seems softer, and almost weirdly casual, with less vitality, and that disparity has nothing to do with any treatment of plot. Still, don't let such critical assessment suggest that I don't like this picture; I mean only that of the three cinematic installments up to this point, I personally find it to be the least among them. And be that as it may, 'Baby cart to Hades' nevertheless stands tall as an excellent classic in its own right, entertaining and engrossing. Just as much to the point, if one is sitting for this then it stands to reason that we're already invested in the overarching saga, and there's really no going wrong here. Harp on this or that as we will, this feature is solid, and earns a warm recommendation.
Kozure Ôkami: Sanzu no kawa no ubaguruma (1972)
Just as wild and indulgent, yet unquestionably more carefully honed
The series carries a lot of weight in cinema, having influenced countless filmmakers of all stripes, yet when I sat to watch the first film, 'Sword of vengeance,' I freely admit I didn't really know much of anything about it. Having now watched and greatly enjoyed that film of a few months before, with its wild blend of jidaigeki prestige and exploitation spectacle, it's safe to say that I was more well prepared for continuing to explore the saga. With the chief contributors returning both in front of the camera and behind the scenes, this second installment wastes no time at all as it opens with a splash of violence and a taste of Sakurai Eiken's flavorful, stylized score. Yet while 'Baby cart at the River Styx' unmistakably demonstrates the same penchant for substantial blood, gore, and otherwise showy carnage and extravagance, wearing on its sleeve the flair that has inspired directors like Miike Takashi and Quentin Tarantino, I think this sequel also shows more of a mind for subtlety than its predecessor as it continues to build the story of Itto and Daigoro. Taken together with the same reliable, expert craftsmanship, the result is another terrific, highly enjoyable classic.
The same qualities we saw in January 1972 remain proliferate and vibrant in April as astonishing crimson, viscera, and otherwise bloodshed is adjoined with marvelously rich, lovely detail in every capacity, and even a touch of artistry within the outward sensationalism. The story, again written by Koike Kazuo working from his own manga, splits its time between quiet moments exploring the relationship of father and son, the continued efforts of the conspiracy helmed by the Yagyu clan to bring down the executioner turned assassin, and the mission that the ronin has taken on to support himself and his child. In most every regard this picture somewhat comes across as an exercise in oneupmanship: there is arguably more violence, and greater stakes for Itto and Daigoro; at the same time there is also more restraint and finesse in how some of the violence is portrayed, and more moments of soft drama to further propel the plot. The filming locations and sets are at least as beautiful, and the props, weapons, stunts, effects, fight choreography, and action sequences more elaborate. Sakurai's music comes across as more varied and dynamic, and possibly also Makiura Chishi's cinematography and Taniguchi Toshio's editing, while these also share with Misumi Kenji's direction a sense of more polish.
To be sure, this second feature embraces the same most overt and sometimes heavy-handed indulgence, including not just flying blood and body parts but sequences unflinchingly built for cinematic showmanship and the subjective but almost indisputable "cool factor." But it also seems decidedly more measured in its dispensation at all times, no matter how reserved or gaudy the title deigns to be in a given moment. We see Itto's tremendous capability for tearing through any foe and prevailing in any scenario, but we also see the tremendous love that he has for Daigoro, discreetly expressed though it may be in his warrior's stoicism. The exquisitely nuanced range in Wakayama Tomisaburo's lead performance is echoed in the spectrum of moods and tones in the writing, and in what I feel to be more wonderful, careful minutiae in the scene writing and narrative, but also in the dialogue and characterizations. With equally smart consideration for the vibrant costume design, hair, and makeup as for every other facet, what I think it really comes down to is that for as fantastic as 'Sword of vengeance' was, 'Baby cart at the River Styx' is surely even better. Immense skill, intelligence, and care that went into this flick, and it shows.
It remains true that these movies won't appeal to all comers, not least as the blood flows so freely amidst rampant stylized violence. The kinship 'Lone wolf and cub' shares with the most outlandish Hong Kong kung fu flicks, with outrageous Italian horror, and with the most controversially brutal and often excessive modern filmmakers is one of its defining traits for viewers who come to the franchise with fresh eyes. Yet even within that nature, the result is altogether brilliant at no few points, illustrating more judicious application of all its aspects than can commonly be said for like-minded fare. So yes, 'Baby cart at the River Styx' is a splatter-ready ruckus, but it's a very fine-tuned splatter-ready ruckus, with perfectly solid foundations in all its component parts. I dare say it's possible that someone who was turned off by the first film might even find this one more palatable, but one way or another, this is plainly superb, and I'm happy to give it my high and enthusiastic recommendation!