Reviews

In 1962 Kobayashi Masaki made 'Harakiri,' a stunning masterpiece of jidaigeki that, through exploration of the samurai's code of honor, offered a fiery critique of those who would uphold major symbols and the virtues they supposedly represent while in fact forsaking those virtues, and their humanity. It shouldn't be too surprising that it would also be Kobayashi, again working beside screenwriter Hashimoto Shinobu, to be that uncommon filmmaker to not just explore the unchecked, easily corruptible power of those in positions of authority and wealth in heavily romanticized feudal Japan, taking what they want without redress - a notion touched upon in many kindred titles - but more specifically to use this material to pointedly criticize the lowly status of women in society: little more than property, subject entirely to the whims of men, and carelessly discarded, traded, and reclaimed. Much more infrequently has this been a major focal point of the genre, and Kobayashi tackles it with the same spellbinding artistry and intensity that characterized that prior work. 'Samurai rebellion,' or 'Rebellion: Receive the wife,' is plainly outstanding, and just as essential a classic as anything the man made.

It's Takemitsu Toru's score that catches our attention first as pounding taiko drums greet us over the opening credits. Music is sometimes employed more sparingly throughout these 120-odd minutes, sticking to the background, yet Takemitsu illustrates a keen sense of dynamics that allows his contribution to flavor scenes even when he's not front and center. And whether the music is soft complement or prominent accompaniment, the traditional instrumentation and Takemitsu's superb, patient mind for composition allows his work to lend tremendous atmosphere and gravity to the proceedings. And this language quite applies to most everything about this picture, for it broadly maintains a quiet, understated tenor, yet in so doing the tale and every part thereof is allowed to speak for itself - and every voice in this choir reverberates like a thunderclap. Kobayashi affirms once again that he was a director with few meaningful peers, for in every shot and scene we see the meticulous, careful hand that shapes with an understanding of finesse and wonderful aesthetics, and also impact and dramatic storytelling. There is beauty in how this feature was shot, and in how it otherwise presents - absolutely a credit as well to the vibrant cinematography of Yamada Kazuo, and Sagara Hisashi's sharp editing - that contrasts magnificently with the staggering import and darkness that it routinely reflects. Small moments of warmth, tenderness, love, and steadfast integrity are welcome and refreshing, and carry even more weight in light of all else herein.

Bursts of action, coming mostly in the back end, are executed with precision and restraint relative to those in many other movies, yet the choreography, stunts, and effects are exquisite and no less invigorating because of it. In fact, with the slow, steady, but inescapable build of tension and buzzing energy that 'Samurai rebellion' sustains beyond early exposition, the carefully orchestrated release that comes with the violence in the last couple scenes is ultimately just as fierce and commanding (and probably more so) as what we might get elsewhere with more sensational tendencies. This deeply mindful approach is further seen in the acting, for as the film is built primarily as a drama, all on hand are given ample opportunity to give stupendous performances of supremely nuanced range, poise, and emotional depth. As is true in other ways throughout the runtime, wherever the acting does shift from subtlety to more overt presentation, the result is all the more potent. Among others this definitely includes Tsukasa Yoko, Kato Go, and Nakadai Tatsuya, in the larger supporting parts, and even those whose presence is more piecemeal. It's safe to say that icon Mifune Toshiro takes center stage, however, and though he is most known for the severe and mercurial warriors he's played in 'Seven samurai,' or 'The hidden fortress,' his turn as Isaburo is one that allows him to demonstrate more of his versatility, and it is a real pleasure as a viewer. Just as much to the point, there are a select few performances I've ever seen - hitting on a sublime combination of utmost fervor, and delivery or comportment strained to the limits - that are not just outwardly excellent but which evoke a strong reaction. As the course of events comes to an extra grisly close, Mifune strikes just such a note, and the incidence only further elevates an already stellar viewing experience.

Rounded out with expectantly beautiful filming locations, detailed sets, props, and weapons, and lovely costume design, hair, and makeup, in every regard this title is altogether terrific and electrifying. I would put it on much the same pedestal as 'Harakiri,' frankly, which is the highest compliment I could pay, not to mention cementing Kobayashi as a filmmaker who was very much a peer of legendary Kurosawa Akira. This notably begins rather softly, yet once key plot is revealed the story develops swiftly and pulls us along for the ride. The narrative is raptly compelling, Hashimoto's scene writing is fabulously robust, the innate themes and larger ideas are immensely gratifying, and even the dialogue and characters are shrewd and interesting. As that screenplay lays the firm foundations for the whole all other participants bring the picture to bear with fantastic skill, intelligence, and care, and when all is said and done this simply demands viewership. As a matter of personal preference it may not immediately appeal to all comers, yet I instantly hold 'Samurai rebellion' in such esteem and fine company that I think it exists beyond any questions of what one usually checks out. I couldn't be happier with how brilliantly, absorbing, and satisfying this is, and I can only give it my very highest, heartiest, and most enthusiastic recommendation - in my opinion this is a classic that's well worth going out of your way to see.

Inagaki Hiroshi's "Samurai Trilogy" carries a lofty reputation, and it's readily evident why as soon as we sit to watch for ourselves. From top to bottom they are expertly crafted in every capacity; for as rich and absorbing as 1954's 'Miyamoto Musashi' is, I'm firmly of the mind that 1955's 'Duel at Ichijoji Temple' is even better, demonstrating growth in skills, and more finesse and subtlety. While we can safely assume excellence, just how well would the 1956 capstone compare to its predecessors? There's no disputing the extremely high quality of this conclusion, but incredibly, after the mastery of the previous title in particular, it seems to me that Inagaki took an unexpected turn and eased off the reins on this production. In some measure it comes across to me as relatively loose, and easy-going, as if the filmmaker told his cast and crew, "Do good work, but have fun with this one." By all means, 'Duel at Ganryu Island' maintains the same broad look and feel with its blend of drama and action, and it's very much worthwhile both on its own merits and as part of this trilogy. It also tends to carry a lighter, almost casual tone, and is perhaps less intense in its storytelling and the execution thereof.

That lightness is a product of both Inagaki's direction and the adapted screenplay he penned with returning writing partner Wakao Tokuhei. There are some jaunty airs of adventure as protagonist Musashi seeks alternative pursuits for a time for his personal growth, and this certainly applies to subsequent action sequences; some outright humor presents, not least with the supporting characters of Jotaro and Kumagoro. Some scenes following the continuing thread of Musashi and Otsu's relationship, and Akemi's conflicted passions, split the difference between jidaigeki prestige and more conventional romantic comedy-drama. The acting is as unfailingly strong as ever, but having now also been freed to some extent of the burden of the utmost weighty drama, there is a renewed sense of vigor to the performances to accompany the same terrific skills we've seen exercised heretofore. Similarly, while indisputable vitality and a consistent undercurrent of energy continue to thrum through the direction, Inagaki's guidance thereof feels a little more relaxed, and moreover regains the mind for spectacle that bolstered the story in shots and scenes in the first film. Do keep well in mind that none of this is specifically a reflection on the lasting value of 'Duel at Ganryu Island'; on the contrary, when all is said and done I firmly believe that this very capably stands side by side with its antecedents. It's just that the approach to this finale seems quite different, and in that, it's possible that this is a feature that's more accessible for general audiences.

With all this having been said, even if this is characterized by a different vibe, the craftsmanship that went into it is just as superb. The resplendent, intoxicating mid-century Eastmancolor processing that defines the proceedings grandly enriches every detail to greet us, and even as Yamada Kazuo takes over from Yasumoto Jun, the cinematography walks hand in hand with that coloring technique and is as smart, vivid, and dynamic as ever. The filming locations are utterly gorgeous, and we can plainly see how much meticulous care went into the sets, costume design, hair, and makeup. It seems to me that more extras were employed here than before, and their addition to some action sequences enhances that indicated spectacle, to say nothing of the exquisite choreography, fantastic stunts, and super effects. I dare say Dan Ikuma's score in this installment is even more varied than before, notably adopting a different tenor to some degree, and as a result I think the music is surely a top highlight (more than was true before) that reinforces the splendor of the viewing experience. Why, though the overall tone in these 105 minutes may be less grandly dramatic, there remains power and emotional depth in the acting and direction that perfectly accentuate select moments. From the earliest scenes, to big sequences to come partway through, to the spellbinding climax that holds us in complete reverence, there are many moments all throughout this picture that - lighter tone aside - are completely brilliant, and marvelously artistic, handily matching the best of 'Miyamoto Musashi' and 'Duel at Ichijoji Temple.' Whether this is achieved through bright shot composition, ingenious use of light and shadow, optimal shooting conditions in a setting, stellar acting, a particularly exceptional bit of writing or direction, or some combination of any of these things and more, 'Ganryu' most definitely illustrates its kinship with its forebears in the sheer magnificence of its superlative moments.

Capped off with a breathtaking finish, ultimately I'd have no qualms naming this alongside its brethren as a great classic that demands viewership. Each part of this trilogy is made in a manner just slightly different from the others, and in the end that helps each and the whole to stand out all the more. Of the three I think 'Duel at Ganryu Island' makes the weakest initial impression, but it's safe to say that long before the ending rolls around this unmistakably shows its strength. With outstanding writing, direction, acting, and craftsmanship, and benefiting from almost the exact same cast and crew as the prior two films, the sum total is tremendously compelling, enjoyable, and satisfying, and it would be a sore mistake to pass up any chance to watch. I altogether love this trilogy, and as the conclusion thereof, I'm thrilled to give 'Duel at Ganryu Island' my very high, hearty, and enthusiastic recommendation!

This trilogy carries a high reputation, and as soon as we watch the first part of it we readily understand why. 'Miyamoto Musashi' alone was a perfect film, easily standing by itself should that be necessary - and gratifyingly, as soon as this sequel begins, it's very evident that it is cut from the same cloth and is just as worthy. As key contributors return among both the cast and crew we're immediately greeted with all the same unfailing high quality, and assured of an equally magnificent viewing experience we can sit back and enjoy the ride. 'Duel at Ichijoji Temple' is another tremendous classic, and one would be making a sore mistake to pass up the opportunity to watch.

In every capacity this is rich with incredible detail, including in the screenplay of filmmaker Inagaki Hiroshi and screenwriter Wakao Tokuhei that distinctly builds on its predecessor. The narrative continues to follow Miyamoto as he grows in his skills as a samurai and seeks enlightenment in the world; at the same time, threads of a more personal nature begin to converge with his loftier path as figures from his past continue to be drawn into his gravity while abjuring the honesty, integrity, and accountability that Miyamoto can now claim. Thus do we get a viewing experience that is infused with steadfast jidaigeki drama while boasting more violence than the previous title, and at all times it is raptly absorbing, compelling, and satisfying. All the while, once more the scene writing is momentously strong in providing the fuel for all others to exercise their skill and intelligence, including acting that feels even more balanced and nuanced than before while otherwise remaining just as excellent. Ably fitting the needs of any given moment, the actors give performances of earnest range, personality, and emotional depth, not to mention physicality. Mifune Toshio naturally stands out most in the lead role, and is given the most opportunity to shine, but with seemingly more time on-screen for other cast members given the nature of the writing, his co-stars are just as fantastic, including among others Okada Mariko, Yachigusa Kaoru, Kogure Michiyo, Mito Mitsuko, Sakai Sachio, and more.

Inagaki also seems to have grown in his capabilities as a director, for it seems to me that his oversight of the production reflects even more intelligence and mindfulness than one year before. The measure of briskness that previously marked his direction has been replaced by judicious restraint, yet a thrumming undercurrent of vitality remains in the proceedings as Inagaki commands a tight production. The sense of spectacle is diminished in how he orchestrates shots and scenes, but instead the storytelling is flavorfully bolstered with a greater sense of weight and import, and all this is true as much for those moments of violence as for those of quiet drama. Cinematographer Yasumoto Jun demonstrates like development of his craft while otherwise impressing in all the same ways he did previously with his adept work. That glorious mid-century Eastmancolor processing, besting too many examples shaped with techniques and technology of the subsequent seven decades, makes every little iota wonderfully vibrant as it presents: the luscious, painstaking sets, costume design, hair, and makeup; the gorgeous filming locations; the props and weapons; the finely executed stuns, effects, choreography, and action sequences; every subtlety of Yasumoto's photography, Inagaki's direction, and the acting. In every manner 'Duel at Ichijoji Temple' is constructed with a deliberate, patient finesse that exceeds even the splendor of 'Miyamoto Musashi,' and despite that - or really, more likely because of it - the feature builds exquisite tension and suspense that are even more captivating.

I could understand the perspective that the tale is weakened by giving substantial secondary focus to characters other than Miyamoto, yet I'm of the mind that in every fashion the result is so brilliantly written and made that these other story ideas only flesh out the saga all the more. From top to bottom this flawless, and as if any portion weren't ample illustration, the climactic titular sequence is so exemplary that in its utmost superiority - including, to my absolute pleasure, Dan Ikuma's score - I'm reminded of a scant few other movies which, if only for a few minutes, could surely be said to represent the pinnacle of cinema as an art form. There are no two ways about it: Inagaki's trilogy is masterful, and as 'Duel at Ichijoji Temple' manages to surpass the already exceptional first picture, I can only give it my very highest, heartiest, and most enthusiastic recommendation. No matter what your personal preferences, this is a must-see, and that's all there is to it.

It never ceases to amaze how the mid-century techniques and technology of color processing - most famously Technicolor, but also others including the Eastmancolor employed here - continue to dazzle more, and look better even decades on, than countless features made using modern filming methods. Every color is more reliably vibrant, every discrete use of light and shadow more reliably stark, every detail more reliably vivid with the approach of seventy years ago. And rest assured that we are given bounteous eyefuls to appreciate in this seminal classic, as magnificent as we could hope, with absolutely gorgeous, varied filming locations and lovely, extensive sets being just the foundation. The costume design, hair, and makeup are just as splendid, not to mention props and weapons, and any stunts, effects, choreography, and otherwise action sequences pop out all the more, easily capturing the imagination. There is a certain briskness in Inagaki Hiroshi's generally keen direction that gratifyingly serves not so much to facilitate curtness or swift pacing, but rather the steady energy of a tightly run production; furthermore, his orchestration of shots and scenes fosters a small sense of spectacle, not by way of getting in the way of the story, but of bolstering it in the most flavorful manner. At least as impressive is Yasumoto Jun's cinematography: smart, mindful, dynamic, and actively working alongside the Eastmancolor to offer us every slight minutiae with a rich, sumptuous vitality that in and of itself is greatly rewarding. Truly, the craftsmanship behind 'Miyamoto Musashi,' the first part of Inagaki's 'Samurai' trilogy, is altogether terrific and a real pleasure as a viewer.

Yet unfailingly solid as that craftsmanship is, the picture is equally superb in its storytelling. Working from Yoshikawa Eiji's novel to tell of the life of this historical figure, screenwriters filmmaker Inagaki and screenwriter Wakao Tokuhei fashion a marvelously compelling saga that's even more engrossing and impactful than one may assume. Or really, one-third of a saga, as there are two portions yet to come, and this focuses on Miyamoto's early days as a brash, hot-headed man aspiring to glory, and only just starting out on the path toward something grander. The narrative keeps us raptly absorbed with the struggles Miyamoto endures, and the scene writing is momentously strong to provide the fuel for Inagaki and all others to ply their trade. That includes the cast, all of whom give fantastic performances of meaningful emotional depth, not to mention range and physicality. As one of the foremost, internationally-renowned stars of Japanese cinema it's safe to say that Mifune Toshiro stands out most, for there are few actors who have left as indelible a mark on the medium as he has, but this is hardly to count out his co-stars who all breathe life into their characters and the tableau with equal capability. Among others this includes Mikuni Rentaro as Miyamoto's friend Matahachi, and while hers is only a supporting part, Yachigusa Kaoru shines with what time she has on-screen. For what scenes of violence there are here, more than not this first film in Inagaki's trilogy can be described as a drama, and with that the cast is given all due opportunity to weave their magic.

Rounded out with a fine complementary score from composer Dan Ikuma, 'Miyamoto Musashi' is so captivating a viewing experience that it's over before we know it. Ninety-three minutes are over all too quickly, yet for as immensely enjoyable and satisfying as the movie is, one can hardly complain. I sat to watch with high expectations and still I'm incredibly pleased with just how excellent this is, a stalwart testament to the skill and intelligence of all who contributed, and to the power of cinema at large. There are many revered titles to have come out of Japan, and while Inagaki may not have the same name recognition as some of his countrymen, there's no question that this and its companion pieces are a part of that upstanding legacy. Whether you have a special impetus to watch or are just looking for something good, there is no going wrong with 'Miyamoto Musashi,' and I'm happy to give it my very high, hearty, and enthusiastic recommendation!

If we're feeling generous we might make allowances for the possibility that nuance in the dialogue was lost in translation when conjuring the subtitles we may find. We need not concern ourselves only with the dialogue, however, because I was taken aback by how very direct this feature is from the very beginning. We're launched headlong into the plot as soon as the opening credits finish flashing on our screen with no particular exposition to speak of. Between the writing and definitely Gosha Hideo's direction the pacing feels inordinately swift, if not forced, invariably diminishing the impact of the proceedings as beats and ideas aren't allowed to manifest, breathe, and resolve in an organic manner, nor themes to carry their weight. It's readily apparent that the scene writing is just as forthright as the dialogue that presents. None of this precludes the possibility of 'Three outlaw samurai' being worthwhile, but it's an inauspicious start that lowers our expectations throughout the better part of the first third.

With that said, the premise is promising from the outset as three ronin decide to aid peasants who, demanding better treatment from local officials, kidnap a magistrate's daughter. In most regards the picture is unquestionably well made, much as we'd expect from a genre filled with highly celebrated works. Gosha demonstrate a sharp eye in terms of orchestrating shots and scenes, and likewise cinematographer Sakai Tadashi with his dynamic contribution; the fundamental manner in which this is shot, including light, shadow, and camera angles, is almost certainly a key highlight for the avid cinephile. The cast give vivid performances of welcome personality and energy, and wherever stunts, effects, and choreography are employed, they look great nad are duly invigorating. Many others turned in work from behind the scenes that's just as terrific, including the sets, costume design, hair, and makeup. Tsushima Toshiaki's music lends some excellent flavor with its somber chords. And as the plot develops beyond the first act the film unquestionably becomes richly absorbing as drama mounts, stakes rise, and thrills build; virtues, iniquities, and everything in between become more apparent; and the tale advances toward some terrible resolution.

Yes, Gosha and co-writers Abe Keiichi and Shiba Eizaburo penned a screenplay with a narrative that is ultimately firmly compelling and satisfying, with flavorful scene writing and characters that are ready-made for a striking, exciting chambara flick. So it's unfortunate that the first act was a portent of things to come, because for as superbly well made as 'Three outlaws' is in most regards, and for as engrossing, stimulating, and entertaining as it increasingly shows itself to be, it's decidedly rough around the edges. No small amount of the scene writing, and absolutely the dialogue, needed to be refined so they didn't come off as such blunt instruments. The direction and pacing needed to be more mindful, judicious, and careful to allow all the best qualities of the feature to bear out their potential. As it stands this comes across as overcharged, squashing the sense of dynamics by which the drama may ideally flourish, and reducing the vitality of the action and adventure as this presents. Other facets are affected in turn, including the acting, almost seeming cheap at times.

I actually quite very much like this movie, and it's well worth watching on its own merits. This bears obvious kinship with esteemed swashbucklers made in Hollywood or England, from silent classics like 'The Sea Hawk' and 'Scaramouche,' to Errol Flynn's Technicolor dream 'The adventures of Robin Hood,' and beyond. We unmistakably see the splendor it shares with like-minded samurai fare like Kurosawa Akira's 'Seven samurai,' or 'Yojimbo,' and more. There are maybe even some touches of film-noir in how the plot plays out. Would that the writing had been just a little more thoughtfully developed, and the execution just a little more measured, so that its lasting value were still more. From beginning to end my opinion did improve; I wish only that this story, and all those who participated, had had the opportunity to truly shine. Do watch 'Three outlaw samurai' if you have the chance, for I think it earns a solid recommendation; just be aware that a lack of polish and finesse means this isn't completely as successful as it could have been.

I was exceptionally pleased with Yamaguchi Junta's 2020 film 'Beyond the infinite two minutes': a charming, indie, low-budget sci-fi comedy that was well-rounded, clever, and funny, easily beating out countless major studio offerings in the process. It was also very smart in playing with time as a core plot device (e.g., travel through, communicate through, loop through, and so on), to an extent that either solicited hard scrutiny of its conceit and/or became delightfully complicated therein; either way, one was well served by not getting bogged down too much in those details. Fast forward a few years and Yamaguchi and screenwriter Ueda Makoto attempt an equally risky venture in 'River': a sequel. Facing the triple challenge of standing on its own merits, following its predecessor in a unique but meaningful way, and broadly quelling the doubts that commonly dog sequels, how is this 2023 feature? I came in with high expectations, and happily, they've not just been met, but exceeded - Yamaguchi and Ueda did it again, and this is a blast! In fact, I'm firmly of the opinion that this is even better!

This picture shares definite kinship with its forebear in various ways, not least in cheekily toying with a very small discrepancy in time, and being restricted to a single setting that is employed in an inventive fashion. The same cast returns to fill new roles alongside newcomers, and Yamaguchi again very much favors lengthy shots that follow individual actors throughout a space, giving cinematographer Kawagoe Kazunari and the crew a bit of a workout. The difference here is that as the nature of the scenario differs from the previous, it emphatically turns away from bearing the appearance of a single, continuous long take, and Yamaguchi gets to illustrate yet again that his skills as an editor are as tight, light, and nimble as his capabilities as a director. Likewise, Ueda once more gives us narrative and scene writing that joyfully overflow with both flavor and complexity, and we can either try to tease out the rules of the reality as it presents - impudently playing fast and loose with time - or just sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride. With the premise here being a time loop, Ueda effectively has a chance to slyly let similar scenes take different paths. And, yes, there's also a tiny but pivotal narrative idea linking the plots of the two titles within the same universe.

Wonderful themes reveal themselves of fearing the future, wanting to hold onto the present, and wishing for the happiness of past days; how we react in extraordinary circumstances that test us, and the extent or limits of bonds of community; strengthening bonds through adversity, and gaining personal insight; and finding the courage and will to move forward despite apprehensions. Yet these are all rolled very organically into the proceedings with marvelous ease and grace, and moreover, at the same time that 'River' evokes real feelings and stimulates our thoughts, it's also highly absorbing, immensely entertaining, and altogether hilarious. The screenplay is an absolute gem, earning many, many laughs - more than 'Beyond the infinite two minutes,' really - and even where the story unexpectedly broaches notably darker airs, these are subsequently twisted into morbid humor that only further heightens the heartfelt earnestness and warmth that ultimately defines the movie. The dialogue is stupendously bright, and the varied characters in and of themselves are a highlight as we get to know them throughout these eighty-six minutes. I'm inclined to believe this flick is even more well balanced than its elder, demonstrating further development in the skills of all, and particularly of Ueda: the writing is even more solid as every little thread is resolved, all tidbits brought back in substantive ways, and the premise executed with more polish and hardier constitution.

Far be it from me to focus so much only on the screenplay, though, because in every other capacity 'River' is terrifically well made. I repeat that Yamaguchi shows himself to be a very shrewd, adept director, and editor, and Kawagoe's cinematography is gratifyingly smooth, fluid, and dynamic - all of which I think is extra important here given the short bursts of time in the plot, and the way that scenes move about. Speaking of moving about, for as much as I appreciated the cast in 'Beyond the infinite two minutes,' now I downright love them. The characters are already so fun as they're written, and as the players inhabit these figures they bring fantastic energy and personality to each and every one. Given emphasis in the script on waitress Mikoto it's safe to say that Fujitani Riko stands out most, and has the most opportunity to exercise her craft, but truly every other cast member is just as superb, and all get their time to shine. The filming location Yamaguchi was able to secure for the production is absolutely gorgeous; like the café in the prior film, it's so cozy and inviting that I wish I could visit the inn myself. The production design, art direction, and costume design are modest, but utterly splendid; I adore the music as it adds to the humor and overall lighthearted vibe. Honestly, as far as I'm concerned this is pretty much perfect.

Again, I treasured 'Beyond the infinite two minutes,' and having seen it I anticipated much the same from another movie. After a few minutes of exposition this kicks up very quickly, and as it did I found myself laughing over and over. With equal parts frivolity and sincerity, and benefiting from the utmost care, intelligence, and hard work of all involved, 'River' is even better than I could have hoped. I have a hard time imagining that anyone could sit for this and not step away having had a great time. I don't know if Ueda and Yamaguchi have another flick up their sleeves (I certainly hope so) or if this is the terminus of this specific line of brilliant creativity, but one way or another this is an incredible highpoint that they and their collaborators should be proud of. For my part I outright cherish 'River,' and I'm all so glad to give it my very high, hearty, and enthusiastic recommendation!

Considering all the highly prized works Kurosawa Akira is best known for, it's easy to forget that he and his contemporary countrymen and filmmakers were commonly pressed into contributing, in one manner or another, to the war effort of Imperial Japan. Kurosawa, at least, seems to be on record as decidedly regretting such involvement, which makes it interesting that he accordingly regarded this one picture especially well. I can understand that sentiment; we can come to hate a job that we've worked, but still take pride in our effort and the labor we performed at the time. With Kurosawa's apparent opinion of 'The most beautiful' in mind, however, as well as the nature and context of the film, it's a little awkward to say that the latter quite outshines the former as we watch. Despite everything it's not that there's absolutely no value herein; rather, it's that the difference is fairly easily discernible between those later works into which the man poured his heart as an artist, and this propagandist piece that he was impelled by his government to create.

In and of itself there are some nice touches throughout the feature, like themes of people coming together in a time of need, and caring for each other within a community; the importance of morale and high spirits to be able to function as a person; and (more or less) criticizing the suggestion that women are inherently less capable than men. The cast, including Kurosawa's future wife Yaguchi Yoko, give earnest, warm performances. Small slivers of humor rear their head throughout - some of them intentional, and others ironic and unintentional in light of the course of history. In fact, while hardly remarkable, this is fairly well made in most ways, including the editing. And when it comes to guiding his actors into emotive performances, and orchestrating larger scenes with an ensemble, Kurosawa's direction shows glimmers of the promise that would be fulfilled when he was again able to make movies of his own volition, free of the bounds of rigid dicta. There is even some welcome detail written into the scenes and characters, and brought out in select shots.

Even as I type such words of praise, however, I feel that I'm straining to reach for them. It's not that this is specifically bad. But it's soulless. Switch around some minutiae that provide indication of the setting, and this could just as well be a corporate training video, a bland fluff piece made for workers at McDonald's, Wal-Mart, or Mars to promote a positive, fruitful work environment. Watch for the banners and slogans posted around the factory or dormitory that are meant to inspire workers' productivity. Watch for scenes where the workers are encouraged to engage in outside activities together, predating the modern corporate obsession with verbiage insisting that their workforces are a "team" or even a "family." Watch for the eagerness with which workers are desperate to work, or to continue working, despite illness or even the needs of their actual family. Watch for the underhanded messaging ingrained within workers that even the slightest oversight or error may spell ruin, and that "sometimes you have to work yourself ragged," and "test yourself" for work.

We all have to eat, and for hopeful young actors, appearing in bit parts or even ads on TV or the Internet is sometimes a major portion of the rocky road to success. Yet imagine if a director like Martin Scorsese agreed to make a full-length feature singing the praises of Amazon, and encouraging warehouse workers to sacrifice their families and their health for the benefit of the company. That is the gist of 'The most beautiful.' The United States also produced such wartime propaganda, and the United Kingdom, and those films were just as schlocky, and have aged just as poorly. There is artistic merit in these eighty-five minutes, but it is overwhelmed by the foremost forthright messaging of espousing patriotism, and spurring citizens to take up duties to advance the national cause. As the imperial government's intent far and away supersedes any opportunity Kurosawa may have had here to pursue his creativity as a filmmaker, the lasting value the movie bears is as a curiosity, as a relic of another time, and as an outlier in the oeuvre of someone so esteemed. If you're looking for a classic Kurosawa masterpiece, this isn't it. If you're a cinephile seeking in every nook and cranny for everything you can get your hands on, or maybe a history buff with an interest in such ephemera, then have at it.

The premise is as much a joy as it is a curiosity. Toying with disruptions to time as a plot device is one arduous enough, whether travel, communication, loops, any sort of discrepancy, and is prone to scrutiny for the underlying mechanics. Playing within a very limited setting, with a separation of mere minutes between past, present, or future, is wild and inventive - and risky, for that matter, a leap of faith that adds to the complexity. How does one sustain that central conceit for any length? The answer here, it turns out, is much like that of other fare that dallies with space-time: the ideas themselves very quickly become sufficiently complicated that trying to tease apart the layers of reality is a fool's errand, and it's best to just sit back and enjoy the ride. With a suitably strong narrative, employing the temporal conceit in a meaningful way, the only limits to what can be achieved in such fiction is the human imagination, and I'm happy to say that writer Ueda Makoto and filmmaker Yamaguchi Junta have given us a doozy in 'Beyond the infinite two minutes.' Clocking in at only seventy-one minutes, there is more to dissect here than can occupy any reasonable number of words - and it's so much fun!

That this little feature was successfully shot and edited to give the appearance of one long, continuous take is just a bonus as the story unfolds of two television monitors, one in a cafe and one in an apartment upstairs in the same building, that show scenes existing two minutes apart. The initial bewilderment of the characters shifts to excitement, speculation, and a host of other moods and notions as possibilities flit about in their heads and come to fruition. Add a couple wildcards, additional layers of convolution, and questions and themes of causality, free will, worrying about the future, and living in the moment, and in turn the tiny movie becomes funny, enticing, thought-provoking, low-key thrilling, heartwarming, and all told, highly entertaining and satisfying. We can say that the tale uses the Droste effect as a core plot device, but that only gets one so far as we try to follow the same logic as the characters and the story they inhabit. Suffice to say that Ueda penned a screenplay brimming with marvelous intelligence in its narrative and scene writing, and that it all manages to be so delightfully rich and flavorful speaks equally to his acumen. Just as importantly, it seems evident to me that Ueda and Yamaguchi were completely in sync, for the direction is as tight, light, and nimble as the writing and very ably realizes the tableau with obvious ease and grace.

It's readily clear that 'Beyond the infinite two minutes' was a decidedly independent, low-budget production, and I think that's a good thing; I can't fathom what this would have looked like any other way. The cast and crew get a workout as they make the most out of the filming location, split across a few floors in a building, and the production design is superb. Dressed up with only a smidgen of computer-generated imagery or fabricated props to adjoin the otherwise very pointedly ordinary, mundane appearance, the cafe and select other few spaces we see look very cozy and inviting, a place that I wouldn't mind visiting if I ever found myself in Kyoto. That limited CGI looks fantastic (better than the proliferate instances in, say, most major blockbusters), and Yamaguchi's cinematography and editing are as fluid, impeccable, and pleasing as his direction. Takimoto Koji's music is a nice complement to the proceedings - and not to be counted out, the cast is simply excellent, breathing vibrant life into their characters and the story with welcome energy and personality. I really didn't know what to expect when I sat to watch, and I couldn't be happier with just how good this diminutive picture. Everyone who contributed did a terrific job, and still I find myself dazzled by Ueda's screenplay and Yamaguchi's direction. The runtime elapses all too swiftly, and for as perfectly solid as this is, one can't help but to in some measure wish it were longer just because that would mean there were more of it.

Bounteous skill, care, and hard work went into this, and the payoff is bigger than the small-time production, low visibility, and brief runtime portend. I find no flaws here whatsoever, and if anything I would only offer the caveat that, as ever with time-travel flicks, one shouldn't get bogged down in trying to sort out the particulars. No matter how you slice it, though, 'Beyond the infinite two minutes' is a wonderfully brilliant and creative, and I'm glad to give it my very high, hearty, and enthusiastic recommendation!

I didn't know that I never needed to hear white boy Quentin Tarantino poorly imitate a Japanese accent, but now that I have heard it, I will never be able to unhear it. As if the kindred sensibilities of style, violence, and genre mash-up weren't indication enough of what filmmaker Miike Takashi shares in common with his U. S. counterpart, the opening scene spotlighting Tarantino as a scenery-chewing gunslinger is an inauspicious start to what invariably proves to be another unbridled romp from a man known for them. That Miike elected to film this one in English instead of his first language somehow only reinforces the sense of a cheeky, wild lark that invokes English history, spaghetti westerns, and Kurosawa Akira's 'Yojimbo,' among much more. 'Sukiyaki Western Django' is, characteristically, further marked by gauchely oversaturated color processing; intense, almost cartoonish costume design, hair, and makeup that recalls either the Met Gala or Miike's many live-action adaptations of manga; strong, bloody, gory, gratuitous, sensationalist violence exceeding all good reason; dialogue pulled straight from the most hyper-masculine, testosterone-soaked Hollywood action blockbusters of the 70s and 80s; and scene writing and direction of a similar mind that are built for self-indulgent flair first, and storytelling last. Mind you, none of this inherently speaks immediately to the question of quality, only to the fact that we are unquestionably watching a Miike picture. On the other hand, if you can't get on board in any way with Miike's bombastic propensities, then you have no need to ask more generally, "is this something that I might enjoy?"

This is what Miike does, and he does it well. I've seen some of his stuff and quite enjoyed it. I don't doubt his skills as a director any more than I doubt the skills of those others, cast and crew, who participate in his films. I don't necessarily agree that all the choices made were the best ones, but even as the cast are not uncommonly guided into overacting, they give commendably committed performances, and sometimes their earnest capabilities shine through. While, as is almost always true, computer-generated imagery looks worse the more we see of it, broadly the usage here is fine, and practical effects are terrific, not to mention the stunts, choreography of any nature, and otherwise action sequences. Endo Koji's music lends some nice flavor, and the audio is sharp. Cinematographer Kurita Toyomichi, following Miike's beck and call, demonstrates fine abilities, and likewise editor Shimamura Taiji. The filming locations are lovely, and the sets are resplendent with welcome detail - as is the costume design. Outrageous as some elements like that costume design, hair, and makeup may be, I can't deny the skills behind them. Why, some facets exist in this feature or appear as they do mostly if not only just because that's what Miike wanted - such as severe weather that literally, instantly comes out of nowhere - but the inclusion is still done well such as it is.

Only: what's it all for? What is the lasting value of 'Sukiyaki Western Django' outside of (a) wish fulfillment for Miike, who gets to do what he wants while doing what he does best, and (b) the simple-minded instant gratification of "Wow! So cool! Gosh, look at that! Isn't it awesome?" It put food on the table for the folks involved, so I guess there's that. It provides some entertainment value for its precise duration (no more, and maybe less). Some small moments are extra delicious. One way or another, those who contributed get to exercise their craft. But then, we could also get all these factors in another movie that was uniformly, objectively better and more worthwhile. Strangely enough, of any of the filmmaker's works that I've seen, the best are specifically those that are grounded in a coherent, cohesive, compelling narrative that we can become invested in, and which evokes a reaction of one nature or another. We flock to cinema as an art form because the visuals are rich, yes, but also because the medium allows for storytelling that is artistically inspiring, funny, thrilling, thought-provoking, rousing, and/or emotionally impactful. It is true, on paper, that Miike and co-writer Nakamura Masaru penned a screenplay with characters, dialogue, themes, scene-writing, and an overarching plot to bind them all together. As this title exists, I'm completely unsure of what that plot is. It's something about rival gangs in a town, a treasure, an outsider who enters the fray, and a lady with a kid and roses. And also Tarantino, because sure. There comes a point, however - surprisingly early - when the plot becomes a distant, negligible afterthought, because all that Nakamura or Miike actually cared about was the scene writing to enable Miike's flagrantly immoderate, self-serving impulses. At some junctures I'm not convinced that Miike himself knew what the plot was.

We won't spend one minute thinking about this title after we're done watching, unless we do so in disdain. Just as some bits are extra well done, countless others raise a skeptical eyebrow, elicit an exasperated sigh, and make us wonder what drove us to the point in our lives where we decided to spend our time by watching this. It's very easy to "watch" without actively engaging, and because of the foremost prioritization of style over the faintest glimmer of substance, we are rather discouraged from engaging. Action becomes tiresome, attempted humor falls flat, and after a time, we stop looking for those odds and ends that might let one or two happy little neurons fire off (forget smiles or laughs altogether) because to find them we have to sit through too many minutes of Miike's wholesale intemperance. It all looks and sounds fantastic from a fundamental standpoint of how the visuals and audio were constructed, in and of themselves, as our body's sensory organs receive them in the appropriate physiological process. If Miike had spent any time at all developing a narrative to anchor a few million dollars' worth of jingling keys, maybe our brains could have found something to appreciate in the way that our eyes and ears did. Maybe, then, I would have found something to praise more meaningfully, and with some enthusiasm. But that's not the genre flick we get. As it stands, it's no wonder that Miike was driven to re-edit his creation and omit twenty minutes - there comes a point where any time spent here, any at all, feels like too much. 'Sukiyaki Western Django,' as it exists, drags on interminably, and never more so than the nearer we get to the end credits.

Someone out there sincerely enjoys this. I'm glad for them. I don't know how they do it. I sat to watch with mixed expectations based on my mixed past experiences with Miike, and early on I found some aspects to like and was hopeful for more. As the runtime elapses, however, and substance remains desperately wanting, my favor slips further and further. I know what Miike is capable of when he deigns to show care for storytelling as much as for stylized film-making. Would that he had been bothered to do so here.

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.

The first film was flush with wild, invigorating energy, giving us a unique, flavorful, and somewhat chaotic new vision of the yakuza flick. The first sequel was generally on par, though with more conventionally dramatic facets that smoothed over some of the intoxicating rough edges rather than fully embracing them. The third film I found to be sadly middling; though it bore a strong finish, also where it most closely resembled its forebears, mostly its tone and pacing were soft and bland, sorrily dulling plot development that relied extremely heavily on dialogue. What might all this mean for the fourth 'Battles without honor and humanity,' released just one year and two days after the progenitor? Key principals return among both the cast and crew, but I gather that screenwriter Kasahara Kazuo had even more difficulty developing this screenplay than he accordingly did with so-so immediate predecessor 'Proxy war'; what might that mean for 'Police tactics?' How would it compare? Thankfully, it seems as if filmmaker Fukasaku Kinji and his collaborators learned from the mistakes of a few months before, for it seems that where the second sequel was sorely lacking in the necessary vitality to make itself count, this third sequel sees a return of some of the strength that made the first two features so successful. It may not be perfect, but 'Police tactics' finds the series rejuvenated in some measure.

Mind you, the outright fervor of the progenitor is now a thing of the past; evidently there is no recapturing past glory - but there is also no attempt to. The ferocity of the violence, sharply executed with superb stunts, effects, and otherwise action sequences, is where this most echoes the progenitor, though such scenes now carry a sense of being carefully calculated in their construction, and carefully deployed in the runtime to feed into the overall narrative. And therein lies the crux of the fourth title: it's clear from the outset that this continues the saga that was begun one year before, imparting a saga spanning many years of escalating feuds, shifts in power and allegiances, and street warfare. The movie remains more about the broad vibes and broad perspective of yakuza life and activity than about the specific families and figures that it does center, meaning that the scene writing is more important than the overarching plot, but Kasahara, and in turn Fukasaku, seem to have endeavored to create a more balanced iteration of 'Battles without honor and humanity.' And I think they succeeded. While the pure zip (as in #1) of the direction, cinematography, and editing have been restrained (see #2 and still more so #3), this is marked with greater and more consistent vibrancy than 'Proxy war' and possibly more than 'Deadly fight in Hiroshima,' even in the quieter scenes. Just as much to the point, as the bursts of violence definitely continue to stand as the trusted trademark of the series, they are more frequent here in a fashion recalling the first and second pictures.

So this film is kind of a mix of its three antecedents, and at that adeptly bearing and utilizing a degree of buzzing electricity that allows it to rise above the middling drone of 'Proxy war.' Not to belabor the point, but this feels to me like the more polished product that was the second film, only while keeping the looser feel of the progenitor and without infusing more common dramatic overtones. With all this having been said, to one extent or another 'Police tactics' bears all the hallmarks that the series had established for itself, and arguably is the most finely honed rendition up to this point. Whatever our particular opinions on the abject quality and style, Fukasaku's direction is as solid as ever, and likewise the contributions of returning cinematographer Yoshida Sadaji and returning editor Miyamoto Shintaro; all feel more like their old selves again. The music of returning composer Tsushima Toshiaki is deft, delicious complement for the mounting violence of the series. From sets and filming locations to costume design, hair, and makeup, let alone the fundamental image and audio, everything looks and sounds fantastic. The cast, once more, is all around excellent, giving adept performances of range, nuance, and physicality. And just as the direction, cinematography, and editing feel refreshed compared to a few months before - despite whatever hardships Kasahara faced, I think his screenplay is decidedly robust and admirable this time around. I actually wonder if this isn't the most solid character writing that he had managed up to this point, as figures feel more fleshed out; the dialogue carries a little spark of its own (if not as much as in the original feature). And as indicated above, the narrative is more cohesive and sturdy, and the scene writing is as terrific as ever. What the series may have gradually sacrificed in terms of the stunning fever dream that was the first 'Battles without honor and humanity,' it now recoups in a different manner with a harsh, gritty, cogently written portrait of yakuza.

All things considered, I think I might put this on just about the same level as the first movie. There are little strokes of brilliance throughout, through to the end, that in their own way more closely approximate the ingenuity that made the progenitor so extraordinary. Similarly, just as the progenitor has sometimes been described as the Japanese answer to 'The godfather,' I see glimmers of that reflection enduring in 'Police tactics.' It is engaging, compelling, enjoyable, and satisfying with a low thrum of intensity that has been missed in the prior one or two installments. No, there's no recapturing the magic of what 'Battles without honor and humanity' was at the outset,' but one year on, maybe this was the best representation we could have hoped for. The original remains the best as far as I'm concerned, and my favorite, but I'd have no qualms in suggesting it alongside its one superior - and I think that's a high mark of quality indeed. Twelve months and three pictures later, this 'Battles without honor and humanity' is a bit of a return to form by way of both style and value, and I'm pleased to give it my high recommendation.

To read of the production history, one gets a sense that this time around returning screenwriter Kasahara Kazuo had an even more difficult time arranging the source material and history into a form that was workable for cinematic storytelling, and even the process of filming may have had its share of issues. How might this impact the third entry in the 'Battles without honor and humanity series,' this coming five months after its immediate predecessor and eight months after the progenitor was released? Given the harried, chaotic feel of both the storytelling and film-making of the first installment, and the slightly more refined nature of the second - in my mind arguably translating into a slightly less vibrant and more conventional product, if generally just as worthy - how would 'Proxy war' be approached? What similarities would it share, and how would it stack up? I don't think it takes long before we start to get our answer, and while this third picture broaches the same subject matter, carries the same broad vibes, and boasts all the same fundamental elements in some measure, I also think it's evident that it follows the trend we saw with 'Deadly fight in Hiroshima': rather than embrace all the rough edges, many are smoothed over to facilitate a more cohesive narrative. That in itself doesn't specifically mean that this piece is any better or worse, but whatever one's opinion, it does mean that it's an additional step away from what made the original of January 1973 so intoxicating and extraordinary.

It remains true, if to a lesser extent, that the concrete plot, following a few specific yakuza families and individuals, is deemphasized in favor of giving a wide, long-view perspective of yakuza life and activity: bursts of graphic violence amidst constant feuding and shifts of power, position, and territory. As such, there is not so much concern here for how easy or hard the tale is to follow as might be true for cinema at large. On the other hand, this feature further significantly tempers the violence, pacing, and freneticism of before in an effort to bring a more straightforward, tangibly unified plot to bear; heavy-handedly accentuating the point, exposition and some dialogue needlessly hammer on the idea of the gangland wars in Hiroshima mirroring growing unrest around the globe, including proxy conflicts such as those between the United States and Soviet Union. Rest assured that we do get the big stunts, effects, bloodshed, and otherwise action sequences that we have before - but far more sparingly, and with less of the panache that characterized them five months before, let alone eight months before. Fukasaku Kinji's direction is reliably solid in guiding the production, and likewise, as cinematographer Yoshida Sadaji returns and Horiike Kozo replaces previous editor Miyamoto Shintaro, their contributions are splendidly sharp. All the same, some portion of the initial vitality is lost, including even in how the action is shot. One might reasonably say that it's only at the climax, within the last ten minutes, that this most closely resembles the earlier works.

The cast give swell, well-rounded performances, with all the principal stars returning; all those behind the scenes turn in superb work including sets, costume design, and hair and makeup. The music of returning composer Tsushima Toshiaki remains delightfully flavorful complement. The active narrative is ably rounded out one more by tidbits of narration, on-screen text, and instances of still images and graphics that serve to provide context and advance the narrative more concisely. And still: for all the skill and intelligence that went into this title, something is missing. The wild energy of the first movie is almost absent; the more carefully crafted dramatic sensibilities and impact of the second movie are painted over in dull hues. That narration, text, and still imagery seems overly abundant, distracting from the proceedings more than adding to it. Just as the violence is pushed to smaller corners, so is there also a strange dearth of urgency and import in the storytelling, and in its execution. The tale is duly interesting, but it is mostly rendered with a soft, bland tone that approaches casual indifference - and as plot development in the drama predominantly depends so, so much on quiet scenes of dialogue, this is very bad news in terms of the installment's overall success. Some moments are instead almost parodical, but for lack of any zest leave no mark; all told the film may be well made, but it struggles to make much of an impression. For as fine as 'Proxy war' is at its best, and for all that it has in common with its antecedents, to be frank it comes off as a decidedly weaker imitation.

The end result is a viewing experience that doesn't particularly command our attention; for all our expectations, engagement becomes passive. Taken in stride with its elder brethren this flick is unquestionably a step down, or maybe even two steps down, and kind of disappointing; considered on its own, it won't necessarily stand out in a crowd. I don't think this third 'Battles without honor and humanity' is altogether bad. I think that for as much as it tries to join the company of the progenitor and first sequel, it's only a pale shade, and maybe the reported difficulties of the production - namely, Kasahara's toils and troubles in devising the screenplay - were even more severe than they read on paper. In concept this is kith and kin with its forebears; in conjuration and in execution, it's a plodding, somewhat tedious simulacrum that can claim only slivers of the same value. I'm glad for those who get more out of it than I do, and I maintain that it's better than not; to one degree or another worth watching both on its own merits and as part of the ongoing series. For as much as 'Proxy war' saps away our enthusiasm, however, I also wonder if one isn't better off watching only Fukasaku's original, and not even bothering with the remainder. I want to like it more than I do, but then, maybe as it is I'm being too kind in my assessment.

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.

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!

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!

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.

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.

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!

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.

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!

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.

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.

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!'

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.

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.