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I_Ailurophile
Reviews
Tsuma yo bara no yô ni (1935)
Softly rich and satisfying; a fine drama
I admit I find this to be a little uneven, and it's possible that my opinion stems in part from an inability to fully appreciate the film-making and storytelling sensibilities that figure into it. (By the same token, though relatively rare, I believe it is unfavorable when the lasting value of a picture is in some measure dependent on cultural context.) One way or another, there are points where the dialogue and scene writing come across as rather rigid and unnatural - and for that matter, Naruse Mikio's direction as well - and slivers of tonal discrepancy also curiously raise their head, even in Ito Noboru's complementary score. In fairness, these issues diminish, if not resolve entirely, as the plot develops beyond the exposition in the first third that establishes characters, their relationships, and the scenario. It's still unfortunate, though, that with a shorter runtime of only seventy-four minutes, those issues consequently feel more pronounced. However worthy 'Wife! Be like a rose!' may or may not otherwise be, to some small extent it doesn't necessarily meet its full potential.
Yet thankfully such matters represent but a fragment of the movie, and regardless of how much we might scrutinize it this is, overall, quite strong, enjoyable, and satisfying. Though without specific examples coming to mind I'm reminded somewhat of some contemporary fare out of Hollywood or England in how the story initially seems ready to focus on Kimiko's relationship with boyfriend Seiji, but instead shifts to the more dramatic focus of her family's structure, with father Shunsaku having left her and mother Etsuko years ago. This is probably the more interesting story, anyway, for through it we see the complexities of relationships between men and women, not to mention the complexities of individual people; the false assumptions that we make about people based on limited information, and the difficulties of reconciling our hopes for the future with the realities of the past and present; and more. This carries itself with a soft tone, declining to heavily emphasize any beat or idea, but that works perfectly in the film's favor as the tale and its themes are allowed to speak for themselves. And so they do. It's worth further observing that in 'Wife! Be like a rose!' we see a quite modern vision of Japan, with Kimiko moreover being an intelligent, independent-minded young woman, and writing that denotes Shunsaku's culpability - unlike a lot of contemporary works in which Men Never Do Any Wrong unless they were outright villains - while also recognizing the complicated situation in which the characters find themselves. I don't think the title is impeccable, yet Naruse's writing is generally superb as he adapts Nakano Minoru's play.
In all other ways this is splendidly well made, with Suzuki Hiroshi's cinematography striking me as especially smart and dynamic. As the feature maintains a soft, reserved tenor, I think the cast are given more of an opportunity to meaningfully demonstrate their nuanced range and emotional depth, and from one to the next the performances are excellent. By all means, some roles are larger than others, yet I'm equally pleased with all the actors, from Chiba Sachiko (Komiko), Ito Tomoko (Etsuko), and Fujiwara Kamatari (uncle Shingo), to Hanabusa Yuriko (Oyuki), Maruyama Sadao (Shunsaku), and Horikoshi Setsuko (Shizuko). The filming locations are lovely, and the sets no less so; the costume design is sharp and fetching. Truthfully, while I'm of the mind that there are some shortcomings, when all is said and done I think the strengths this boasts well outshine any weaker spots, and the impression I'm left with is of a quietly rich, rewarding drama. One would be remiss not to observe this to have seemingly been one of Naruse's first sound pictures, and one of the first Japanese pictures to have made its way to the United States, and from the outside one might wonder if it has any further value to offer ninety years later. I'm happy to say that as far as I'm concerned it very much does, and I'm glad to give a warm, hearty recommendation for 'Wife! Be like a rose!'
'Jûsangô taihisen' yori: Sono gosôsha o nerae (1960)
Overall very good, with an excellent finish, if less sure-footed in various ways
I find myself a little surprised by how straightforward this is. It carries definite airs of film-noir, and the crime thriller, as protagonist Tamon independently pursues an investigation into a spiraling series of events. The body count rises amidst seedy business and pure underworld dealings, and there are plenty of turns to come as the plot develops. Even so, the movement is fairly linear, and with infrequent exceptions the tone is unexpectedly muted if not just plain flat. Granted, that tone is no mark against the picture per se as it doesn't speak specifically to the substance, though it does reduce our engagement to some degree. On the other hand, stood next to the most readily comparable fare, the relative lack of sophistication in the narrative does specifically impact our opinion to at least some extent - and when we learn who is behind the deaths and why, the explanations aren't entirely convincing on paper, nor satisfying. A major component of any murder mystery or kindred story is the dramatic reveal of the killer and their motives, or at least the underlying scheme, and if these aren't adequately compelling, then our viewing experience will be diminished. I'm definitely not saying that 'Take aim at the police van' is bad, because that's plainly not true, but all told the strength of its storytelling is just variable enough that its lasting value is lessened.
Be that as it may, the feature remains enjoyable and worthwhile on its own merits. Though the writing has its weaknesses, more than not scribes Shimada Kazuo and Sekizawa Shinichi penned a solid, absorbing story and a fine screenplay. The scene writing is strong, the best of the characterizations are interesting, and perceived shortcomings in the script amount to insufficient development of all characters and ideas, and thin connective threads between ideas. More than not Suzuki Seijun's direction is just splendid in orchestrating shots and scenes; it's technically capable for sure, and maybe just a tad softer when it comes to infusing the necessary vitality for the proceedings. In fairness, the climax is wonderfully sharp, suspenseful, and exciting, arguably the peak in these seventy-nine minutes where the direction is concerned - and importantly, where the reveals indicated above don't necessarily impress as written, in realization the drama is most assuredly felt in the last minutes. Furthermore, even when Suzuki comes up short, other contributors pick up the slack. Suzuki Akira's editing is marvelously tight and effective, and Mine Shigeyoshi's cinematography is reliably rich and vibrant. The cast is unfailingly fantastic; among others, Mizushima Michitaro deftly navigates the lead role with swell nuanced range and commanding presence, and Watanabe Misako increasingly stands out with the personality and emotional depth she brings to her part as Yuko. Moreover, where stunts, effects, and action sequences rule the day (above all at the climax), they are roundly excellent and absolutely do much to invest us in the film.
Rounded out with terrific filming locations, music, and various other work from those behind the scenes, when all is said and done I actually think this is pretty swell, and we're certainly treated to a superb finish. The final sequence is so smartly written and executed that it makes me reconsider my critiques in some measure. I just kind of wish that the whole screenplay were approached with equal care from top to bottom, for some beats, characterizations, and connective threads are unquestionably more firm and sure-footed than others. Ultimately 'Take aim at the police van' is entertaining and engrossing, and it holds its own reasonably well against like-minded contemporary fare out of Hollywood, England, France, or elsewhere. This deserves a look if one has the chance to watch. Just know that it's imperfect, and maybe like me you'll find that in the end the whole manages to pull out a win despite its occasional infirmities.
Nihon boryoku-dan: Kumicho (1969)
Strong, compelling, and unexpectedly impactful (if a smidgen unpolished)
The one trouble that I see with this film is that it has distinct rough edges in the narrative writing. By and large Konami Fumio, Osada Noriot, and filmmaker Fukasaku Kinji penned a terrific screenplay boasting an engaging, compelling story, and all the beats and ideas are there. The connective threads between those beats and ideas, however, are sometimes fuzzy and indistinct, leaving a bit to be desired. There is a logical progression, yet through to the end that progression is not always fully fleshed out, so in ways big and small it may feel as if the plot is making less convincing hops of Movie Magic to advance. With just a little more time spent on the screenplay developing the characters, the relationships between them, and the plot, this would have risen even higher in my estimation.
With that having been said, though, 'Japan organized crime boss' is splendidly sharp in every other regard, and for that matter even better than I may have expected. It's a crime flick superbly balanced between quieter dramatic scenes, action-ready sequences of violence, and slight thriller airs, boasting meaningful themes and eliciting earnest feelings. Exciting and entertaining as it may be at times, ultimately this is a rather downbeat feature as notions presented early on grow more emphatic in due course: Tsukamoto is released from prison and seems unenthusiastic about continuing to be involved with yakuza, yet he is drawn back in all the same amidst bitter rivalries, ugly fights, and hit jobs that leave no one untouched. There are times when I'm reminded of 'The godfather' to come a few years later, not only in terms of the kindred subject matter but also the bigger underlying thoughts and general vibes, and I think that's surely speaks well to Fukasaku and his collaborators.
While I think the writing may have benefited from a smidgen more refinement, the story is otherwise solid and absorbing, with excellent characters and rich scene writing. Exposition in the first few minutes is kind of unwieldy as figures are introduced in a rush, but thereafter the pacing and plot development are just fine; at points it may come across that the violence among the feuding clans is shortchanged as we get mere flashes, but as later instances are more prolonged and upfront, we must be glad that not all of it is given the same extensive treatment. Fukasaku's direction is unfailingly strong in realizing the tableau with bold yet nuanced tones, and the acting is just as fantastic. Not to discount anyone else on hand, but Tsuruta Koji definitely stands out most as Tsukamoto, not just because of his prominence but for the poise and often subtle emotional depth that he brings to the role. I think it's quite a pleasure to watch Tsuruta, really, in a manner that isn't true of all actors.
The sets and filming locations are great, and the costume design crisp and vivid. The stunts, effects, and action sequences are plainly superb, and Tanaka Osamu's editing seems especially tight to me as it helps to sustain the vitality of the proceedings. When all is said and done I really like 'Japan organized crime boss,' and it strikes some extra potent notes at various points throughout its ninety-seven minutes. Just as much to the point, for a filmmaker whose oeuvre ranges from yakuza pictures, to space operas, to fantasy adventure, to apocalyptic drama, I think this again illustrates Fukasaku's versatility. I repeat that I wish the writing were more polished, but even with some slight weak spots, much more than not the sum total is enjoyable and satisfying. Unless one has a specific impetus to watch there's not necessarily a need to go out of one's way for it, but if you do have the chance to watch then I think this is well worth checking out.
Tokyo Fist (1995)
A wild, unexpectedly electrifying ride, with all Tsukamoto's usual flair
Lest one think subject matter grounded in real life, like boxing and interpersonal drama, would temper Tsukamoto Shinya's unmistakable style of film-making, let's lay those thoughts to rest right now. We're treated to the same rapid cuts that result in a frenetic look and feel, and loose, handheld camerawork that feels informal, personal, and confrontational, and which further lends to that frenetic tenor. We absolutely get some blood and gore among other stunts and practical effects, and the quick sequences of stop-motion animation that he perfected in his famous breakthrough 'Tetsuo: The iron man,' not to mention very specific choices of lighting to help foster dark overtones. For good measure, add in an original score that often directly or indirectly echoes the harsh industrial music proliferate in the man's best known works; industrial, brutalist, or urban imagery; and enthusiastic overacting wherever it may be appropriate. 'Tokyo fist' may play in a different genre space, but Tsukamoto's stamp is all over it, even including a subtler variation on the theme of transformation that is paramount in a fair portion of his oeuvre.
With all this well in mind I can understand how the filmmaker's tendencies won't appeal to all comers, and I'm not about to sit here and say that the picture is a pure must-see. There are also small touches of homophobia scattered herein that really haven't aged well; this may have been the 90s, but folks should know better. All the same II find myself rather pleased with how good it is, and I think Tsukamoto's brand of film-making and storytelling manages to work pretty well in this instance. The root story is a suitable melodrama in which outwardly mild-mannered office worker Tsuda comes into conflict with old friend Kojima, chiefly but not exclusively over beautiful Hizuru. Layered atop this foundation are the efforts by all three characters to wildly remake themselves, and with the flourishes for which Tsukamoto is known, the resulting tableau is characterized in large part by the vibes that conventionally belong to more violent, far-flung, action-packed genres. It's an interesting blend that shifts somewhat between tones, but it all fits together surprisingly well.
I do think the writing is uneven and imperfect - maybe even ultimately a little unsophisticated, truthfully - and the storytelling could have been tightened and refined. This applies to the filmmaker's sequencing, too, which seems a smidgen disjointed. Be that as it may, the core of the feature is marvelously strong. The central narrative is compelling and satisfying, and more than it may seem at first blush; the scene writing is smart and flavorful. As Tsukamoto wears multiple hats, as he commonly does with his endeavors, his versatility is without question, including his direction and cinematography. Especially as the journeys of their characters more or less escalate in the latter half I think the cast give excellent, vibrant performances to bring their characters and the story to life, quite naturally including Tsukamoto himself, his brother Koji, and definitely co-star Fujii Kahori (among others). Terrific production design and art direction adjoin fantastic filming locations, and from costume design to gnarly special makeup and practical effects, 'Tokyo fist' looks all-around great. Further factor in good use of sound and Ishikawa Chu's swell music, and I think this is a movie that kind of grows on you.
It has some shortcomings, it's a bit garish at times, and neither the violence nor Tsukamoto's personal style will appeal to all comers. To the same point, while the sum total shares considerable kinship with the filmmaker's other works, it remains true that this is in some measure a different type of title. Nonetheless, I sat to watch with expectations that were a tad mixed, and at length I'm very pleased with how sharp it turned out to be. Strictly speaking I should maybe be viewing the whole with more criticism, yet the fact is that this flick carries itself with a vehemence, and and a ferocious energy, that helps its value to outshine its less sure-footed facets. It's the application of outrageous horror sensibilities to a premise that's fairly ordinary, and when all is said and done 'Tokyo fist' is striking and evocative in a way that makes me kind of love it. One should be well aware of Tsukamoto's proclivities before watching, and I'm not saying the film is a total revelation, but if you do have the opportunity to watch, it's unique, memorable, and invigorating, not to mention entertaining and satisfying, and I'm happy to give 'Tokyo fist' my hearty recommendation.
Ten to Chi to (1990)
Phenomenal battle sequences and visuals vs. otherwise highly questionable treatment
Sometimes it feels like a disadvantage to watch as many movies as I do, and as huge a variety. I've watched revered jidaigeki classics from the likes of Kurosawa Akira and Kobayashi Masaki; I've watched middling U. S. action flicks and B-movies, including some that to one degree or another play loosely and indifferently with aesthetics lifted from Japan or China. Maybe it has something to do with the production having filmed in Canada, and I double and triple-checked to try to be sure that I wasn't missing some crucial detail - but in watching this 1990 period piece, frankly I discern as many similarities with the latter as with the former. There is a jarring discrepancy between those facets that unquestionably reflect earnest mindful care, and those that seem to have received the benefit of notably less attention or resources. The sum total is still enjoyable in some measure, but there's a clash of styles and quality throughout the whole runtime that makes me feel as if I were watching two different versions of the same film smashed together into one. It's kind of unpleasant and uncomfortable, and not in a manner that has anything to do with the ugliness of war as depicted herein. I'm glad that I watched, but how much is that really saying?
The foremost visuals and ardor of the production unmistakably belong to the cinema of filmmaker Kadokawa Haruki and his countrymen, and there was seemingly no expense spared. Epic battle scenes are rendered with countless horses and extras, thousands of props, weapons, and suits of armor, and the magnificence of enormous battlefields. The stunts, effects, choreography, and otherwise action sequences are outstanding and invigorating, and one wishes that we saw still more of them. This is to say nothing, broadly, of the terrific production design and art direction. The sets are utterly fantastic, and likewise the costume design, hair, and makeup. The filming locations are plainly gorgeous. At its best Kadokawa's direction is impeccable in orchestrating shots and scenes, and the cinematography is unfailingly smart, whether we're watching stark violence unfold or a quiet scene of dialogue between two characters. 'Heaven and Earth' is beautifully shot, and it's a sight for sore eyes that in its fundamental presentation fits right in with esteemed classics like Kurosawa's epics 'Ran,' or 'Kagemusha.'
On the other hand, this Japanese picture, that was filmed in the Japanese language, includes narration in English from a man whose timbre recalls Peter Falk narrating 'The Princess Bride,' but with a less sincere diction. The music is defined largely by so-so MIDI themes produced on a keyboard that would feel more at home in a low-grade sci-fi flick, or maybe a PC videogame from the early to mid-90s, and the drama and thrills are sadly undercut to a considerable extent. The editing and sequencing come off as a little brusque and sometimes sloppy, a far cry from the meticulous craftsmanship we expect based on jidaigeki from the previous several decades. Even if we make allowances for weak translation in subtitles to convey information in a different language, every now and again the dialogue comes off as weirdly oversimplified and dull, and the same verbiage could be applied to the scene writing. Actually, I'm not so impressed with the screenplay at all; Kadokawa, Kamata Toshio, Keynji Chogoro, and Yoshiwara Isao give us a feature that majorly emphasizes its battles, and the otherwise grandeur of the visuals, while oddly skimping on the plot that provides context for what we're watching. Case in point, Usami is treated so lightly in the script that his actions relative to Kagetora pretty much seem to come out of nowhere, and there is absolutely no weight behind what happens between the two men. In another example, a supporting character that is important to a primary one dies off-screen, but since they were barely part of the tale to begin with, their loss means nothing to the audience. The story requires these events to transpire, and so they do, but the incidence holds no water.
Further complicating matters, though Kadokawa arranges scenes in general, battle scenes particularly, and wide, sweeping vistas with a mind for that visual splendor, in the smaller, more specific instances of guiding his cast and informing the camerawork, to be honest his work comes across as halfhearted and middling. The final scene between Usami and Kagetora is executed with sloth and apparent hesitance that has nothing to do with the emotions the figures may be feeling and everything to do with how actors Enoki Takaaki and Watase Tsunehiko are moving and expressing themselves. Later, as the camera slowly revolves around Enoki in a somber moment, it is with a speed that undercuts the drama of the beat. The action sequences are truly phenomenal, and the overall excellence of the the sights to greet us no less so in a production that was accordingly massively expensive by any prior standards of the Japanese industry. So why does it seem as if the title was shortchanged with regards to the minutiae that help to bring the best value to bear? Did those involved have a very limited skill set that resulted in this dichotomy? Was the budget so pointedly devoted to the battles and visuals that all other elements were bereft, and the contributors had to make do? In one fashion or another, there are two halves that comprise the whole that is 'Heaven and Earth,' and they are not equal, identical halves.
For what it does well I want to like this far, far more than I do; I cannot overstate how superb the battle sequences are, likely among the very, very best that have ever been produced in the medium. For where it strangely falls short, sacrificing other key aspects to hyper-focus on the battles and visuals, I'm aghast, and flummoxed. The disparity is glaring, and the movie in its entirety is gravely diminished in turn. Had all components been treated with equal skill, intelligence, and care, 'Heaven and Earth' would surely be hailed as one of the greatest pictures ever made; having not received the benefit of labor applied equally across the board, my favor drops precipitously. For as great as those battles and visuals are, it's not as if we can't get similar ardor elsewhere. The number of reasons there are to watch this instead of anything else are few. I do like this feature, but I also can't help wondering if I'm being to kind in my assessment. Do check it out, by all means, and for the especial parts that I've noted - but be well aware that 'Heaven and Earth' is a title split in two, and it is in turn both stupendous and tiresome.
Ôritsu uchûgun Oneamisu no tsubasa (1987)
Terrific potential in concept, scant actual value
Just because a movie may be generally well-regarded doesn't mean that it will appeal equally to all comers. Just because a movie may have been ground-breaking of revolutionary upon release doesn't mean it will continue to hold up in subsequent years. Just because a movie has been influential for filmmakers who followed in its footsteps does not mean that such a movie in and of itself bears enduring value. When I first began watching this movie my swift first reaction was to flinch with a mixture of aghast disgust and disbelief at how bad it looked and sounded. That reaction, unfortunately, did not improve, and sometimes the film inspired mocking laughter. Though I gather that its reception has been mixed since the time of its release and even in retrospect, I also recognize that some noteworthy figures have spoken highly of 'Royal Space Force.' For my part, while I don't think it's wholly rotten, I find myself deeply unconvinced, and I actually rather regret spending two hours here.
Full disclosure, it was an English dub that I watched. I don't like dubbing. I guess it's acceptable when done well - but then, this was not done well. Dull, disinterested, and feebly incapable of expressing emotion, this is the type of utterly rotten dubbing that gives dubbing a bad name, replete with flubbed lines and awkward pauses in addition to bad voice acting. No, I'm not going to hold this against the film too much since the dubbing isn't the fault of anyone who worked on the Japanese production. While I don't know if I should, I will also grant allowances for the possibility that the original work was mangled and re-edited in preparation for international audiences. Yet such generosity doesn't help this picture's odds.
Just as the voice acting in the dub is often painful when it comes to imparting any feelings, the dialogue and animation also conflict sometimes with what they're trying to convey, whether we're talking about facial expressions or body language. The feature further falters with a flummoxing lack of vitality, usually practically trundling along with casual indifference no matter what's happening in a scene. That dearth exacerbates already weak pacing by which the proceedings pointlessly drone on, nearly becoming soporific. Maybe this wouldn't matter so much if the writing were stronger, but as far as I'm concerned the dialogue is terrible, if not also desperately heavy-handed, and the character writing is astoundingly gauche and thin. The scene writing commonly raises a skeptical eyebrow as it presents, and at worst can't hold any water. I recognize commendable themes and ideas in the narrative, but with all the stunning shortcomings that plague the title in other regards, the story receives achingly poor treatment, and I just want it to be over.
I'm decidedly unimpressed with the sequencing and editing that questionably chops up the storytelling. Some of the music is adequate, and some of it is tiresomely subpar. Even Yamaga Hiroyuki's direction just leaves me feeling exhausted rather than engaged, let alone excited. Is there anything here that concretely earns meaningful praise? It's definitely not the character designs, and less so the character animation. I suppose the settings, environments, and painted backgrounds are a sight for sore eyes, and benefit from excellent detail. The same goes for other active animated elements, such as a train, and a couple action sequences. But wait: is this really the most positive verbiage I have to offer? Nice backgrounds, a train, and two action sequences? Other animated titles had already been finding far greater success for years - in every capacity, including writing. Otomo Katsuhiro's adaptation of his own 'Akira,' released merely one year later, completely blows 'Royal Space Force' out of the proverbial water in every way, connoting a massive gulf between these two productions that are essentially contemporaries. All told, yes, I think that is the most positive verbiage I have to offer.
I read about what others have said of this flick and I was enticed; I sat to watch with expectations that were mixed to high. I see the bigger thoughts and ideas that this tries to broach, many all too relevant to real life, and I believe the concept had really wonderful potential. I also think the movie mostly flounders when it comes to actually communicating its ideas, or really, when it comes to doing much of anything. I more or less anticipated appreciating this, and I do not. If you're one of those viewers who really does enjoy 'Royal Space Force,' and finds it satisfying and rewarding, then I'm genuinely happy for you. My own opinion is that this is a humdrum, so-so, vexing dud with no worth that we can't get elsewhere, and one's time is better spent watching another film in the first place. Oh well.
Cube: Ichido haittara, saigo (2021)
Thin character writing becomes the downfall of an overlong, unnecessary remake
It's been a long time since I last watched it, but I'm a huge fan of Vincenzo Natali's original 1997 film. It's unique, smart, and imaginative, and it very much caught my attention when I first saw it in the late 90s and whenever I've seen it again. No, I've not seen either of the "sequels" to follow in the 2000s, but Natali's progenitor remains a sci-fi horror-thriller that I think about a lot. I was chuffed to learn it was getting a Japanese remake - not because I'm especially keen on remakes at large (the opposite, actually), but rather, no one does horror quite like Japanese filmmakers do. What might 'Cube' look like twenty-four years later in the hands of Shimizu Yasuhiko? Well, the good news is that if you like 'Cube,' you're getting more 'Cube.' Shimizu's 'Cube' reflects love for Natali's 'Cube' and its inventive concept. The bad news is that Shimizu and writer Tokuo Koji drew the wrong lessons from that prior ingenuity, because when I say that this 2021 feature is a remake, I mean that in some ways it is nearly an exact duplicate of what Natali gave us with co-writers André Bijelic and Graeme Manson. And where this rendition does differentiate itself, it's with expansion on ideas that take the storytelling in an ill-advised direction. This doesn't mean that the new iteration isn't still enjoyable or worthwhile on some level. It does mean that it's frankly unnecessary, and simply not as enjoyable or worthwhile as the film it's reimagining.
Granted, it's certainly not as if the Japanese version is a shot for shot recreation. New traps were devised to fill some of the rooms, or even just updated visions of some we've seen before, and with these comes an opportunity to foster tension and suspense even as we know the broad story. The rooms have a different visual design. We get some filler shots of computer-generated imagery, existing outside the boundaries of the small group of characters and their path, that I actually don't think were necessary as they reinforce the sci-fi angle; there are times when this 'Cube' definitely recalls the wild creations of contemporaries like Miike Takashi, for better and or worse. The audio is crystal clear, and the sound effects lend to the viewing experience more than I think was true before. Overall I do like Yamada Yutaka's score, flavorful as it complements the proceedings, though I think it's a bit of a mixed bag: the more atmospheric themes are superb, be they harsh and searing, emotive, or otherwise primed to help build pressure; the more melodic themes, however, and those that employ EDM beats, may be swell in and of themselves but aren't fully appropriate to the broad tenor in the first place, and in some specific instances are pointedly ill-fitting.
If all that comes off as a grab bag, though, unfortunately it gets worse from there. Some scenes and characterizations are taken quite directly from the 1997 origin, not to mention the general thrust of the plot. Some of those characterizations are twisted into new directions, or expanded upon, or receive heavier focus, and I do think there were some good ideas as far as these go. Case in point, to some degree the new material that Tokuo infuses into the proceedings bears its best potential when zeroing in on how the personalities and histories of the characters make them as much of a danger to each other as the traps. This is hardly the first horror flick to explore that notion, and indeed, Natali touched upon this in some measure. Yet to be blunt, Tokuo's character writing is entirely too thin and unconvincing to carry the weight of the plot they are made to shoulder, and this ultimately becomes the critical downfall of the whole picture.
We're treated to many scattered shots and brief scenes portending characters' memories and backstories, and at first they just come off as misguided additions to pad out the length in a fashion that we commonly criticize when, say, international movies get a Hollywood remake. Were that the case, I would say that these tangential story beats would be worth pursuing in another title, but here they kill the pacing and momentum instead of heightening the stakes. However, what at first seems tangential and misguided increasingly becomes a major facet of the narrative, placing at least as much emphasis on the characters if not more than on the titular structure(s). As the character writing is insufficient to hold any proverbial water, the characters just become kind of annoying, and then the dialogue; some of the actors do fine, and some of the direction is fine, but some actors are given dubiously little to do, some of the direction must overcompensate, and the acting suffers in turn. It's hard to care about these insubstantial characters, and as the plot begins to center them more than their geometric nightmare, it becomes easy to somewhat check out. That might be recommended, actually, because when late in the runtime one actor is given a ranting screed to recite, the dialogue almost comes off like a block of text cobbled together by "generative artificial intelligence" from manifestos scraped off the Internet.
Natali's 'Cube' succeeded because it was the straightforward story of a group of strangers finding themselves in an extraordinary, deadly scenario, and they butted heads as they exercised their capabilities to try to find their way out while speculating on their situation. It was fit and trim at ninety minutes. This is essentially all that Shimizu's 'Cube' needed to be, albeit with new thoughts to distinguish itself, and with the expectation that, like much of Japanese horror otherwise, the violence, blood, and gore would probably be more extreme. Shimizu's 'Cube' instead veers off more in the direction of "who are worse, the monsters or the people?" - but without the strength to make that approach work. Shimizu's direction is technically proficient, the cast do the best they can with the material, Tokuo has some good ideas, and all those operating behind the scenes turned in excellent work: effects practical and digital, stunts, sound, cinematography, and absolutely the sets and lighting. Without a script that can make any of it count, however, the end result is sadly middling and disappointing, and 108 minutes feel longer than they are.
I don't completely dislike this 2021 remake. But I regret to say that in all honesty, one is likely better served by just rewatching the 1997 movie. Check it out if you want, and may you get more out of it than I do, but in my opinion there's just not enough value here to warrant spending the time.
Dodesukaden (1970)
Overall swell, but uneven & imperfect; not up to the expected Kurosawa standard
For as highly esteemed as Kurosawa Akira was and remains, and very deservedly so, it's sobering to learn of the dire low point he was at in his career and life around the time this was made and released. For all the lauded classics he directed, sights unseen one has to wonder just what happened with 'Dodes'ka-den' that it had such a middling reception; how might it hold up years later? One readily discerns that it marks a significant stylistic departure for the filmmaker, what with there being no specific, single protagonist or linear narrative. Other filmmakers emerging circa 1970 found considerable success in taking the approach this does: offering a portraiture of the varied lives, hopes, dreams, troubles, and toils of a loose collection of people connected in some manner, in this case the fact of all living in a ramshackle shantytown. Titles of a similar nature continue to find success, with Paul Haggis' 'Crash' of 2004 being an approximate example. For Kurosawa, however, this was a bold risk far removed from his most renowned and celebrated works. I'm not saying that this in and of itself is a bad thing, but one has to consider if they're receptive to the approach, and there remains the question of how well it might be tackled by someone who otherwise operated in a more tried and true storytelling method.
There is absolutely value in the broad concept: showing the diversity of people within an area, how every life has a story worth telling, and how people can be interconnected. But strictly speaking, just how strong is the writing? How compelling are the life stories of fictional characters, presented as a cinematic treatment, especially when compared to the life stories of real people that foster a sense of empathy, understanding, and community? How rich are the scene writing and characterizations? How well is the concept executed with regards to sequencing and editing, and the direction that facilitates the fundamental tone and energy of the proceedings? All this, including the individual life stories, sounds pretty fantastic on paper, or at least sounds fantastic as ideas worth exploring. And very generally, I think Kurosawa's film is fine. Unfortunately, for a filmmaker who stunned again and again with many of his features, and who made many features I would unquestionably place on my personal shortlist of the best ever made, "fine" is a substantial, disappointing step down. The understated tone swings wildly, and there is weirdly little vitality to be found in the drama across nearly two and one-half hours. Some characters are so rich that we are easily invested in them, not least wise, humble Tanba; other characters are not so well written, and it's difficult to care about them as figures in a fictional tableau.
Some thoughts herein are downright brilliant, and others are ripe for storytelling; elsewhere the doing is passive and unremarkable, and I just feel sadly indifferent. With all this firmly in mind, I think the biggest selling point for this picture is the acting. At large everyone gives a swell performance to realize their characters, and it is perhaps regrettable that the writing and execution isn't more robust such that their portrayals would shine more brightly. In the very least, the potency of each tale, and of the acting, is diminished as the proceedings bounce back and forth. Akutagawa Hiroshi gives an incredible, haunted performance as Hei, and Naraoka Tomoko's turn as Ocho is flush with difficult emotions. Minami Shinsuke's depiction of upbeat Ryotaro buzzes with good vibes as he wears a happy face for the children he raises, a contrast with the underlying circumstances; Watanabe Atsushi is a steadfast anchor as compassionate Tanba; and so on. For as much as the actors do to carry the movie, though, it comes across that no one is receiving the full benefit of how their characters and narrative threads may have been handled; sometimes, by one means or another, we see acting or direction that just feels bizarrely insufficient. The viewing experience, in turn - however much we may admire Kurosawa, and find lasting worth in 'Dodes'ka-den' - simply isn't as absorbing, impactful, or satisfying as it could have been.
This is definitely well made in other capacities, including truly outstanding, imaginative art direction, detailed costume design, and sharp sound. I appreciate the cinematography of Saito Takao and Fukuzawa Yasumichi, and while Takemitsu Toru's music mostly sticks to the background it is roundly excellent, especially at its most subtle. And in total fairness, as the saga progresses and we head toward the last 45-60 minutes of the runtime, the course of events across each vignette indisputably tends to become more intensely dramatic - and outright dour, truthfully. As they do the piece at last achieves more of the meaningful weight and gravity we wish we had been getting all along; we do, in time, see the Kurosawa we know and love, in every element. It's so deeply lamentable, then, that for too much of the runtime, 'Dodes'ka-den' doesn't make the same impression we're used to. I'm given to understand that the man wasn't really even behaving like himself during filming, further reflecting the terrible funk he was in around this period. It seems reasonable enough to suppose that the filmmaker's poor mental health affected the script he penned with regular collaborators Hashimoto Shinobu and Oguni Hideo, and undoubtedly his direction. Perhaps we should be thankful that the feature still turned out as good as it did, imperfect and uneven as it may be.
I don't think this is bad. It remains worthwhile on its own merits, and if most anyone else had made it, we would likely be heralding 'Dodes'ka-den' as a splendid accomplishment. I think the end result suffered from a concatenation of bad circumstances, however, and having been made by one of the greatest directors in the world, it just altogether falls short of the immense level of quality we rightly anticipate. For what the film does well at its best I want to like it much more than I do, yet the problems with which it struggles plainly limit my favor, and at that maybe I'm being a tad too kind. I'm glad for those who find the sum total to be a more rewarding viewing experience than I do; I'm inclined to believe that unless one is specifically a fan of Kurosawa or someone else involved, this isn't something that demands viewership. Check it out, by all means, for it is is deserving in some measure. But save 'Dodes'ka-den' for a lazy day - and in an unlikely move for Kurosawa, maybe temper your expectations.
Kaidan (1964)
Exquisite, perfect, masterful; a horror film like no other
Kobayashi Masaki may not have the same name recognition as some of his fellow countrymen, but one doesn't need to go very far in exploring his career to understand what a superb filmmaker he was. With this feature having received both recognition at Cannes and a nomination at the U. S. Academy Awards - rare for horror, and for an anthology no less - it gets our attention before we even sit to watch. And once we do begin, that high esteem is swiftly confirmed even within the first segment. I would expect nothing less from the man who gave us the phenomenal 'Harakiri' of 1962, but 'Kwaidan' is as exceptionally well made as it is deeply engrossing and quietly chilling, and my admiration for Kobayashi only grows.
It's not that the movie is ever outwardly frightening or immediately visceral in the fashion we ordinarily associate with the genre. In fact, this uniformly takes the exact opposite approach, and that is exactly why it so greatly succeeds. The proceedings are defined by a heavily muted tone if not a reverberating, all-consuming silence, a hush that itself is unnatural and foreboding. That hush is penetrated only with utmost judiciousness by scattered, disquieting ambient sound effects, and by the exquisite original music of composer Takemitsu Toru. This isn't your ordinary film score, either, for even as it bears some kinship with the works of other Japanese composers it is dominated by harsh, piercing sounds that keep us on edge, and by unnerving soundscapes that layer on oppressive, terrible atmosphere of a level unmatched by nearly any writer, filmmaker, or composer except horror maestro John Carpenter. To my absolute pleasure, a piece woven into the very narrative of the third segment has the same wonderfully arresting effect, a credit as well to performer Nakamura Katsuo. By the power of the audio alone the picture is extraordinarily unsettling as soon as it begins, and it really never lets up. Rather, considering all other factors, the picture only ever intensifies.
Every other aspect of 'Kwaidan' is approached with the same painstaking calculation for unyielding, permeating atmosphere within a deliberate, emphatically subdued tenor. Both Kobayashi's direction and Miyajima Yoshio's cinematography can be described as meticulous. Artistic, and patient - how often is "patient" used when speaking of movies? - and where atypical techniques are employed (including Dutch angles made famous by the likes of 'The third man') they unfailingly feel more meaningful here. Whether we're looking to the truly gorgeous, astoundingly detailed and imaginative sets, painted backgrounds that are not just vibrant and beautiful but altogether otherworldly, or other minutiae, the production design and art direction are all but peerless. The costume design, hair, and makeup are no less lovely, and actually are just as important and stupendous as anything else in these three hours as they very concretely play directly into the storytelling at times. Even Sagara Hisashi's editing and the careful consideration for lighting are impeccably shrewd, and critical to the grand achievement that the title invariably reveals itself to be again and again.
As if any contribution in 'Kwaidan' were less than stellar, the cast give tremendous performances that further feed into and reinforce the brilliant low-key sensibilities with which this was made. The acting is consistently reserved, befitting the underhanded soft feel of the proceedings, but is characterized at all times by utterly terrific range, nuance, emotional depth, and physicality. One is surely reminded of the most thoughtfully restrained portrayals seen in fare that is commonly regarded with more prestige, like Stanley Kubrick's 'Barry Lyndon' or the works of Kurosawa Akira; that we're seeing this in a horror film makes it all the more striking. To the same point, the pacing is decidedly gentle, downplaying whatever the tone and all other elements do not already, but all this lends only more to the thick, delicious atmosphere that pervades the length, and as such that length passes all so smoothly. And it is that precise tack, that elegant and discreet suppression, within which said bounteous atmosphere is able to manifest, and by which the feature is able to have such profound impact. No, 'Kwaidan' doesn't serve us abject thrills - it takes the smarter, more high-minded, more refined, and more difficult path of being inescapably haunting, if not outright hair-raising, with its laboriously designed, fastidiously moderated storytelling and craftsmanship. In so doing, it easily outshines the vast preponderance of anything that might ever share the same labels of broad categorization.
Each of these four tales carries a slightly different vibe, providing some measure of variety not just in the narratives themselves but in the subtle feelings they evoke. "The black hair" kicks off the viewing experience with a pointedly spine-tingling story; "The woman of the snow" starts off with similar vitality before largely shifting into a supernatural saga of a more distinctly understated bent. The latter could initially be said of "Hoichi the Earless," but it increasingly bears facets that are concretely disconcerting, swells into an extended, genuinely horrifying crescendo, and ultimately leaves us perturbed with a sense of having been transported. In a sagacious mirror of the overall trajectory, bringing us full circle, fourth and final segment "In a cup of tea" more closely echoes "The black hair" by relating a story that is again more plainly, outwardly creepy. All along the way, Mizuki Yoko can claim nothing if not a fabulously compelling narrative, magnificently strong scene writing, and rich characters and dialogue in his screenplay. Across the board, each tale boasts that same exemplary atmosphere, fostered and maintained with the scrupulously managed tone and pacing; each gradually lays in its foundation and builds until the exact psychological moment to astonish. Throughout all three hours 'Kwaidan' is marked with the unswerving, unassailable skill, intelligence, care, and hard work of all involved, with Kobayashi overseeing the production with the finesse and proficiency of a true master with few equals.
And why, for all this, I've not even mentioned the stunts and effects, usually a major component of any horror feature. Such is the manner in which this one was crafted, however, that such matters are actually the least of what comes to our attention - which is not to say that they are anything less than super, but only to say that everything else about 'Kwaidan' is just that outstanding. I anticipated enjoying this, and still I'm blown away by just how good it is. In every capacity I can't fathom describing this picture as anything but a masterpiece, probably standing alone even among the very best of all horror flicks. This is hardly to try to compare Kobayashi's film to anything in the bodies of work of Carpenter, David Cronenberg, Neil Marshall, or anyone else who labors predominantly in such spaces, for the disparity in style is simply that immense, yet that is exactly why Kobayashi's film is so singular. For any number of reasons I can understand how it won't appeal to all comers, nor meet with equal favor, yet I am so incredibly pleased with the unwavering excellence, and surely anyone who is receptive to the more discriminating side of cinema will find much to love here. All I know is that I'm overjoyed with how absorbing and satisfying 'Kwaidan' is, and I'm all too happy to give it my very high, hearty, and enthusiastic recommendation!
Kozure Ôkami: Jigoku e ikuzo! Daigorô (1974)
Overall well done and enjoyable, though possibly the weakest of the series
Though it still has the backing of Katsu and Toho, it's noteworthy that this sixth and final entry in the classic 'Lone wolf and cub' series saw the most significant personnel changes among them all. Kuroda Yoshiyuki directs in the series for the first time; composer Murai Kunihiko takes over from series regular Sakurai Eiken; above all, previous co-writer Nakamura Tsutomu now has the sole writing credit as manga creator Koike Kazuo has not returned to adapt the script. It's reasonable to ponder what such shifts might mean for the last film, 'White heaven in hell,' and one may be inclined to think we find out at least in part right at the start as the musical accompaniment for the opening credits sequence is straight out of 70s Hollywood exploitation fare. Then again, since its inception this saga has dallied with a mixture of the classic and earnest, somewhat recalling revered jidaigeki of past years, and the self-indulgent, violent spectacle that would in turn inform filmmakers like Miike Takashi and Quentin Tarantino. How would this late chapter ultimately hold up? How would it stack up next to its brethren? Happily, despite some gaucheness that may present - in fairness, not entirely different than what we've gotten before - this picture is definitely kith and kin with its predecessors, and at length it's as entertaining as we would hope.
I mean no disrespect to Murai when I say that his score might actually be the weakest link in this chain. It's not specifically bad per se, and it's not as if the franchise wasn't prone to extravagant tendencies heretofore. However, the flavors of Murai's most overt themes are unquestionably a step beyond even the most wild creative choices made elsewhere throughout these productions (like all the doodads outfitting Daigoro's cart), and there's a certain clash of tones. His contribution isn't the only extravagant tendency on hand, though, for the plot also trades to a substantial degree in mysticism and black magic that quite surpass the intimations of deep-seated spirituality that may have occasionally popped up before. I'm not familiar with Koike's manga so I don't know whether or not this is an element that was more visible in the rendition of another medium, and I'm not at all opposed to t he infusion of fantasy in my action-adventure - in fact, I greatly appreciate it - but the fact of the matter is that the inclusion here is decidedly well removed from the approach taken in the five preceding cinematic treatments. 'White heaven in hell' could have been a sixth film that realized the Tsuchigumo in a manner that sidestepped their sorcerous powers, or it might have been a standalone feature that completely embraced that fancifulness, but it is arguably less convincing as it aims to be both.
Still, maybe I'm overreaching in my criticism. I don't know if some odds and ends were the best path forward for this flick, but by and large it's just as terrific as its antecedents. Why, in at least one regard this may genuinely have a leg up on the others, for the Tsuchigumo represent a terrible threat to protagonist Itto and son Daigoro, and those around them, to an extent that the franchise hadn't achieved previously. Itto and Daigoro find themselves in dire straits facing down a unique, unparalleled enemy, and the stakes for the titular duo have truly never been higher. With that core established it may also be the case that the narrative is more tightly focused than it has been. Father and son remain central to the proceedings, and likewise Itto's troubles with the duplicitous Yagyu clan, yet the story has more or less been reduced to its most compact representation to accentuate the viciousness and danger of the Tsuchigumo, and the escalation of Itto's struggle against his foes. This applies to all components of the screenplay, really a tremendous credit to Nakamura, and even with its more questionable bits and pieces the result is highly engaging, absorbing, entertaining, and even thrilling. As viewers we love most of all those movies that we consider flawless, but it also says something special about a movie for its distinct strengths and value to be able to shine so luminously despite equally distinct faults.
In every other capacity 'White heaven in hell' is as reliably superb as its forebears. The filming locations are gorgeous, and the sets, costume design, hair, makeup, props, and weapons are flush with incredible detail. The effects (of course including blood and gore), stunts, choreography, and action sequences are excellent and invigorating, and the cast give perfectly solid performances across the board to bring the tableau to life. Outside of its most dubious phrases Murai's music is just as grabbing and rich as Sakurai's; among the returning crew, Makiura Chishi's cinematography and Taniguchi Toshio's editing are as sharp as ever. The same goes for Kuroda's direction. I think the immediate conflict here with the Tsuchigumo could have been drawn out more so as to accentuate Itto's toils, but still I admire that portion of the tale; the climax frankly echoes the wholly far-fetched gaudiness of the worst frivolities of Roger Moore's time in Eon Productions' James Bond franchise, but still I concede that the sequence is well done just as it is. Given Itto's driving purpose since the first installment of January 1972 I wonder if it wouldn't have been better to give this last installment a more conclusive ending, or at least an ending that wasn't so near to the tropes of a Saturday morning cartoon, but then there's also something to be said for leaving the last minutes open-ended in the eventuality that more may have been produced.
What it comes down to is that this title is a mixed bag, and possibly more so than any of the other 'Lone wolf and cub' films. For the excess that it carries at its worst, I wonder if I'm not being too kind in my assessment; for what it does well, I want to like it more than I do. Considering the significant high quality of the rest of the series it isn't necessarily saying much to suggest that 'White heaven in hell' is the lesser of the six; it might be more meaningful to say that it doesn't necessarily carry the same weight in its themes and storytelling, even where it succeeds the most. I really do like this, and I just wish that where it is less sure-footed, more care had been taken such that it would have met the same level as its fellows. Of all these pictures I'm positive that this is the one that least demands our viewership - especially unfortunate since I think the fifth, 'Baby cart in the land of demons,' may have been the very best of them all - but even at that, it's well done overall, and enjoyable. In this instance one may not need to go out of their way to see it, but if you've already made it to this point in the series, it behooves one to finish the set. Just as much to the point, while it's a step down, 'White heaven in hell' is still worth watching on its own merits, so just sit back, relax, and enjoy the show to come your way.
Kozure Ôkami: Meifumadô (1973)
A stellar, exciting, deeply compelling classic, surpassing its already great predecessors
Five 'Lone wolf and cub' films in eighteen months is no mean feat, and I can only commend Katsu and Toho for their commitment. Previous installment 'Baby cart in peril' maintained the broad vibes of the series even as Saito Buichi stepped in as director, and with Misumi Kenji returning for his fourth installment in the saga, with many other contributors returning, we can be assured of a continued united vision. And so it is: the classic jidaigeki roots of the storytelling and its presentation are adjoined with spectacle and showmanship befitting the self-proclaimed cinephile filmmakers and exploitation cinema that this would inspire and recall. It's true that there is a degree of formula among these movies as the plot follows a general pattern of protagonist Itto - executioner turned assassin and veritable one-man army - being tested for his capabilities, accepting a mission, and pursuing that quest while also looking after son Daigoro and dealing with continued assaults of the Yagyu clan that has conspired against him. Yet each entry also carries little sparks of ingenuity and small variations to set them apart and keep us invested, and the greatest consistency is the very high quality that marks each picture in turn. Happily, 'Baby cart in the land of demons' continues this trend, and I dare say it quickly impresses.
We get all the same elements in one share or another: terrific filming locations, and exquisite craftsmanship in the sets, costume design, hair, makeup, props, and weapons. The effects (including blood and gore), stunts, choreography, and action sequences are sharp and invigorating, and a sense of careful artistry often complements even the most outrageous facets. Returning editor Taniguchi Toshio, new cinematographer Morita Fujio, and certainly director Misumi all turn in fabulously smart work that makes the proceedings pop with life; Sakurai Eiken's score is perhaps more sparing in its dispensation this time, but just as flavorful where it comes into play. The acting is unfailingly excellent as everyone in the cast gives adept performances to suit the needs of any given scene, naturally including returning star Wakayama Tomisaburo and even young Tomikawa Akihiro with their nuanced range and poise, and those in supporting parts of every size such as Sato Tomomi. Scrutinize these features as we may for one perceived shortcoming or another, they routinely bear tremendous production values, and reflect superb skill, intelligence, and care, and 'Baby cart in the land of demons' is no exception.
That leaves the writing and execution, and for all that this title shares in common with its brethren, this might be where it most stands apart as the storytelling carries earnest, refreshing complexity. More than even in immediate predecessor 'Baby cart in peril,' son Daigoro is written as a more fully-fledged character in his own right, clearly learning everything from the father who loves him so deeply yet expresses that love with the reserved stoicism of a warrior. There is a very apparent narrative progression that follows from the events of the fourth installment, or at least very apparent connective threads that draw the overarching saga (beyond the recurring formula and pieces of dialogue). Maybe more than anything else, the plot and its development are drawn out in a more deliberate, gradual, expansive manner that quite reflects a new level of restraint for the series. To some extent each of the five films to this point all feel a bit different from the others, and that is definitely true here. The tale is just as wonderfully compelling, and the scene writing as rich and vibrant as ever, with splendid characterizations and dialogue to round everything out. And with all this firmly in mind, I wonder if this might not be the most balanced, thoughtful entry of them all. All involved follow the lead of chief scribe Koike Kazuo and director Misumi in their judicious, meticulous approach to this portion of the ongoing adaptation, and the result is arguably more satisfying and rewarding than it has been before.
'Lone wolf and cub' holds an esteemed place in culture, and no matter the specifics of our opinions, I don't think there's much disputing that its reputation is well deserved. The only real questions are of the slight differences between each, and of how particular aspects might find us. From one to the next the series may not appeal to all comers for any number of reasons, and still the overall quality is undeniable. For as shrewdly measured as this one is, I couldn't be happier with how fantastic it is. Even at its most extreme (in the third act) I believe 'Baby cart in the land of demons' to be a truly outstanding picture, more than can be said even of its antecedents, and I'm of the opinion that it might be the best of all. Able to stand solidly on its own even while folding into a larger whole, I'm very pleased to give this 1973 classic my high, hearty, and enthusiastic recommendation!
Kozure Ôkami: Oya no kokoro ko no kokoro (1972)
Another outstanding, exciting entry in this classic samurai saga
What's that, you say? Four entries in a franchise released within a single calendar year, and they don't rely on grandiose world-building that requires one to watch a few dozen more hours of movies and TV to keep up? There's an engaging way to push product and there's a tiresome way, and I admire Katsu and Toho for squeezing out four 'Lone wolf and cub' flicks between the beginning of January and the end of December in 1972 that are each as enjoyable and engrossing individually as they are when considered together. 'Baby cart in peril' is even more upfront than its antecedents, immediately launching us into the plot with the opening scene that also guarantees us the violence, blood and gore, and nudity that define the exploitative spectacle for which the series is known. Lest one think this installment is a pure romp, however, it is also unquestionably defined by the capable craftsmanship and visual style that have characterized more prestigious jidaigeki classics. This film is most certainly cut from the same cloth as 'Sword of vengeance,' 'Baby cart at the River Styx,' and 'Baby cart to Hades,' and though the question remains of the exact tack 'Baby cart in peril' will adopt, we are quite assured of the same high-quality entertainment we've come to expect.
Some personnel behind the scenes have moved around, most notably as three-time director Misumi Kenji has gone on to pursue other projects and Saito Buichi takes his place. Even so this picture is just as terrifically well made as those before it, boasting truly fantastic, wonderfully detailed sets, costume design, and hair and makeup. The proliferate blood and gore, otherwise effects, stunts, choreography, and action sequences are all superb, enticing, and invigorating, and it is again true that even at its most extravagant this claims a welcome measure of artistry in how it is put together. That is a credit to new cinematographer Miyagawa Kazuo as much as to new director Saito and returning editor Taniguchi Toshio, and all other contributors, and sort of in a like manner, scribe Koike Kazuo also lends to that bent. Even as the storytelling and overall tone feel more forthright, with swift pacing and self-indulgently elaborate props, weapons, and scenes, there are nice shades of subtlety that peek through here and there, and the writing and execution feel more rich and dynamic. This feature is a bit of a hodgepdge, truthfully, further including flashbacks, somewhat non-linear plot development, and what feels like a more disparate and looser sense of cohesiveness, yet the skill and intelligence of all involved keep the proceedings grounded, and the result is once again upstanding and marvelously entertaining.
Whether we point to new director Saito or the creativity of returning participants, it comes across to some extent that 'Baby cart in peril' was trying something a tad different in its look and feel. What that does mean, if nothing else, is that the fourth title of the series feels fresh again, more vibrant and actively absorbing than the somewhat formulaic immediate forebear. The viewing experience walks a fine line between the careful nuance and refinement of esteemed filmmakers like Kobayashi Masaki or Kurosawa Akira and the wild sensationalism that would in turn influence countless others including Miike Takashi and Quentin Tarantino, and in its own away achieves a special kind of balance. All who helped to bring this to fruition - not least Koike, definitely returning composer Sakurai Eiken with his flavorful music, and even supporting cast member Azuma Michie in her prominent role - just as nimbly walk that line to outstanding success. And still, for all that this single movie says and does, touching upon a wide variety of moods and ideas, it stays smartly anchored not just on account of its general excellence, but also for the themes that are rather central to this entry. The story is again a blend of exploring the core father-son relationship, the bitterness between protagonist Itto and the Yagyu clan that has masterminded the conspiracy against him, and the mission and adventure specific to this portion of the saga. The story also concretely examines cycles of violence, be they out of revenge, for honor, owing to obligation or contract, or following from any other reason. And in so doing it keeps us invested no matter what else is going on.
In keeping with the most far-fetched facets of 'Lone wolf and cub' as a series, the design of Daigoro's cart continues to evolve into a creation that would feel right at home in Eon Productions' James Bond franchise. It should perhaps also be said that the climax revisits the utmost outlandishness of that of the previous feature, for better and for worse. Nevertheless, even here 'Baby cart in peril' is flush with little sparks of brilliance, even in something as simple as how how filming locations are employed. So while we may reasonably scrutinize some elements, the fact invariably remains that this is just what we would want out of the series, and it is just as stupendously compelling and fun as it continues to build up Itto as something of a figure of myth and legend. Eighty-one minutes fly by all too quickly, confirming yet again just how sharp and electrifying the saga is regardless of how we dissect it. Semantics and nitpicking aside, what it comes down to is that this fourth title is a blast, and there's just not really any going wrong with 'Lone wolf and cub.' If one is this far into the ongoing episodic tale then one is fully committed, but one way or another 'Baby cart in peril' is a great time and I'm pleased to give it my high recommendation.
Kozure Ôkami: Shinikazeni mukau ubaguruma (1972)
Another fantastic blend of jidaigeki and exploitation, if arguably a tad lesser this time
Katsu and Toho truly wasted no time in producing these films and getting them out into the world; this was the third installment to see release in 1972, and with all the same principals no less. With this in mind we are assured of the same blend of jidaigeki prestige, represented most famously by such master filmmakers as Kobayashi Masaki and Kurosawa Akira, and the sensationalist mind for exploitation spectacle that has influenced directors such as Miike Takashi and Quentin Tarantino. And so it is, with 'Baby cart to Hades' existing somewhere on the same spectrum as all-out romp 'Sword of vengeance' and its first, finely honed sequel, 'Baby cart at the River Styx.' For my part I don't believe it unreasonable to think this more closely echoes the former, with mindful flashes of the latter: considerable sex and nudity adjoins the strong violence and bloodshed, and overall it is arguably not quite so shrewdly mindful and refined as its immediate predecessor. Yet there comes a point where all such scrutiny becomes nitpicking, and however we wish to categorize it, the fact is that this third entry in the 'Lone wolf and cub' series is gratifyingly strong and absorbing, another fine testament to the skill and intelligence of all involved.
Though in some measure it amounts to splitting hairs, it's surely true that this picture differentiates itself a bit from its elders by rather directly speaking to the imposing, unyielding code of honor that protagonist Ogami Itto steadfastly maintains. Just as Itto's great love for son Daigoro is expressed with utmost reserved stoicism, the delicate touch with which the man's samurai code is broached stands in notable contrast to the most wild, overt sequences that largely characterize the saga. Yet this is no error of tonal discrepancy; it's the exact mixture of the meticulous restraint 'Lone wolf and cub' bears at its most careful and judicious, and the bombastic extravagance of bloodletting and showmanship with which it is marked at its most outrageous, that is exactly what makes these flicks so iconic. The story continues of that father-son relationship, Itto's fight with the Yagyu clan who conspired against him from the start, and of the jobs and adventures he has along the road, and the tale is simply shaped with a particular focus, and with a kind of balance between the approaches taken in the earlier entries of January and April 1972. Him and haw as we may about the particulars, this is another fantastic movie.
However we might debate the finer points, all the same high quality we got before is most assuredly present in these ninety minutes, to varying degrees. The filming locations are beautiful, and no less so the detailed sets, costume design, and hair and makeup. The stunts, effects, fight choreography, and action sequences are outstanding, not to mention the props and weapons that feed into them. Sakurai Eiken's music is flavorful complement, and Makiura Chishi's cinematography and Taniguchi Toshio's editing are as splendidly sharp as Misumi Kenji's direction. Star Wakayama Tomisaburo gives a performance of superb poise and nuance, and all his co-stars are just as reliable; while women tend to be underrepresented in these titles compared to men, Hamada Yuko indisputably stands out with the time she is given as Torizo, just as Matsuo Kayo and Mayama Tomoko had before her in the second and first films, respectively. Koike Kazuo, once again adapting from his own manga, produced a screenplay with a firmly compelling narrative, vibrant scene writing, and dialogue and characterizations that ably round out the proceedings and keep us engaged. Is there any manner in which this isn't well done? I don't think there is.
For any number of reasons, as a matter of personal preference 'Lone wolf and cub' still won't appeal to all, three films in. My personal tastes are to hold 'Baby cart to Hades' with a little less favor than its antecedents - not because it specifically does anything wrong, or marks a step down in value, but just because it seems to me that this isn't as wholly impressive. The stakes don't feel as high for Itto this time around, and the writing and execution comes across as a tad more formulaic and rote. Of course the executioner turned assassin will triumph, why wouldn't he; even when monumentally outnumbered our protagonist prevails as the trope of the unstoppable "one-man army" is fully embraced, and Itto doesn't even necessarily take as many injuries here as he has before. In writing and in execution the doing seems softer, and almost weirdly casual, with less vitality, and that disparity has nothing to do with any treatment of plot. Still, don't let such critical assessment suggest that I don't like this picture; I mean only that of the three cinematic installments up to this point, I personally find it to be the least among them. And be that as it may, 'Baby cart to Hades' nevertheless stands tall as an excellent classic in its own right, entertaining and engrossing. Just as much to the point, if one is sitting for this then it stands to reason that we're already invested in the overarching saga, and there's really no going wrong here. Harp on this or that as we will, this feature is solid, and earns a warm recommendation.
Kozure Ôkami: Sanzu no kawa no ubaguruma (1972)
Just as wild and indulgent, yet unquestionably more carefully honed
The series carries a lot of weight in cinema, having influenced countless filmmakers of all stripes, yet when I sat to watch the first film, 'Sword of vengeance,' I freely admit I didn't really know much of anything about it. Having now watched and greatly enjoyed that film of a few months before, with its wild blend of jidaigeki prestige and exploitation spectacle, it's safe to say that I was more well prepared for continuing to explore the saga. With the chief contributors returning both in front of the camera and behind the scenes, this second installment wastes no time at all as it opens with a splash of violence and a taste of Sakurai Eiken's flavorful, stylized score. Yet while 'Baby cart at the River Styx' unmistakably demonstrates the same penchant for substantial blood, gore, and otherwise showy carnage and extravagance, wearing on its sleeve the flair that has inspired directors like Miike Takashi and Quentin Tarantino, I think this sequel also shows more of a mind for subtlety than its predecessor as it continues to build the story of Itto and Daigoro. Taken together with the same reliable, expert craftsmanship, the result is another terrific, highly enjoyable classic.
The same qualities we saw in January 1972 remain proliferate and vibrant in April as astonishing crimson, viscera, and otherwise bloodshed is adjoined with marvelously rich, lovely detail in every capacity, and even a touch of artistry within the outward sensationalism. The story, again written by Koike Kazuo working from his own manga, splits its time between quiet moments exploring the relationship of father and son, the continued efforts of the conspiracy helmed by the Yagyu clan to bring down the executioner turned assassin, and the mission that the ronin has taken on to support himself and his child. In most every regard this picture somewhat comes across as an exercise in oneupmanship: there is arguably more violence, and greater stakes for Itto and Daigoro; at the same time there is also more restraint and finesse in how some of the violence is portrayed, and more moments of soft drama to further propel the plot. The filming locations and sets are at least as beautiful, and the props, weapons, stunts, effects, fight choreography, and action sequences more elaborate. Sakurai's music comes across as more varied and dynamic, and possibly also Makiura Chishi's cinematography and Taniguchi Toshio's editing, while these also share with Misumi Kenji's direction a sense of more polish.
To be sure, this second feature embraces the same most overt and sometimes heavy-handed indulgence, including not just flying blood and body parts but sequences unflinchingly built for cinematic showmanship and the subjective but almost indisputable "cool factor." But it also seems decidedly more measured in its dispensation at all times, no matter how reserved or gaudy the title deigns to be in a given moment. We see Itto's tremendous capability for tearing through any foe and prevailing in any scenario, but we also see the tremendous love that he has for Daigoro, discreetly expressed though it may be in his warrior's stoicism. The exquisitely nuanced range in Wakayama Tomisaburo's lead performance is echoed in the spectrum of moods and tones in the writing, and in what I feel to be more wonderful, careful minutiae in the scene writing and narrative, but also in the dialogue and characterizations. With equally smart consideration for the vibrant costume design, hair, and makeup as for every other facet, what I think it really comes down to is that for as fantastic as 'Sword of vengeance' was, 'Baby cart at the River Styx' is surely even better. Immense skill, intelligence, and care that went into this flick, and it shows.
It remains true that these movies won't appeal to all comers, not least as the blood flows so freely amidst rampant stylized violence. The kinship 'Lone wolf and cub' shares with the most outlandish Hong Kong kung fu flicks, with outrageous Italian horror, and with the most controversially brutal and often excessive modern filmmakers is one of its defining traits for viewers who come to the franchise with fresh eyes. Yet even within that nature, the result is altogether brilliant at no few points, illustrating more judicious application of all its aspects than can commonly be said for like-minded fare. So yes, 'Baby cart at the River Styx' is a splatter-ready ruckus, but it's a very fine-tuned splatter-ready ruckus, with perfectly solid foundations in all its component parts. I dare say it's possible that someone who was turned off by the first film might even find this one more palatable, but one way or another, this is plainly superb, and I'm happy to give it my high and enthusiastic recommendation!
Kozure Ôkami: Ko wo kashi ude kashi tsukamatsuru (1972)
An exciting, entertaining mix of jidaigeki prestige with exploitation spectacle
The exquisite craftsmanship and resolved strength of the storytelling speak to the grandeur of revered jidaigeki classics. The specifics of the screenplay, and of its sensationalist realization, undeniably reflect a cheeky turn toward the exploitation cinema that especially began to proliferate in the 1970s, and which in turn would inspire countless renowned filmmakers to come. The 'Lone wolf and cub' series itself, beginning here, irrefutably influenced many, including Miike Takashi and Quentin Tarantino, and one readily discerns a kinship with Italian horror-thrillers of contemporary and subsequent make, or the abundant kung fu flicks coming out of Hong Kong. With strong violence, blood, gore, and sex and nudity, wild characterizations so emphatic as to almost be cartoonish, dialogue that ranges from heavy-handed to being fit for the stereotypical sailor, and scene writing, direction, and acting that seems built for flavorful cinematic spectacle, one can plainly see where 'Sword of vengeance' belongs in the annals of the medium. It also remains true, however, that it's superbly well made, and ultimately entertaining despite the overt sleaziness, and it's no wonder why the saga has been so highly visible in culture in the past fifty years.
Regardless of the nature of the picture, its building blocks are as unfailingly solid, and in fact there is a remarkable, unmistakable, sometimes unexpected artistry that also characterizes the proceedings. This is actually just as well made as we could ever hope for such period fare, with stupendous contributions across the board. The sets, costume design, hair and makeup, props, and weapons are rendered with outstanding detail; the many effects, stunts, fight choreography, and action sequences are vibrant and invigorating, if not also outright clever. Maikura Chishi's cinematography is wonderfully sharp, smart, and dynamic, as is Taniguchi Toshio's editing, and as if it weren't already true of anyone else here, filmmaker Misumi Kenji demonstrates exceptional skill and intelligence in his direction that is momentously rich and enticing, not to mention deeply satisfying. Where Sakurai Eiken's music particularly rears its head it lends some welcome flair in complementing the feature, and the sound is crisp and clear. 'Sword of vengeance' looks and sounds incredible.
Even with the movie being what it is, there are also extra nice touches in Koike Kazuo's screenplay as he adapts his own manga created with Kojima Goseki. There are surprising poetic flourishes in some of the dialogue and even some of the characterizations; the scene writing is stark and vivid at all points. While the end product is very deliberately and unquestionably turned toward lurid extravagance, the core story itself is greatly compelling as samurai Itto is forced to take to the road with young son Daigoro, and firm foundation is laid for an ongoing cinematic journey. I freely admit that I knew little of 'Lone wolf and cub' before I sat to watch, though I anticipated enjoying it. I was perhaps taken aback in some measure by the most robustly stimulating elements of the presentation, but even if one is disinclined toward such factors, the simple fact of the matter is that this is an excellent, very enjoyable film. I can understand how it won't appeal to all comers, yet between the root genre and the showman sensibilities that dress it up, I'm very pleased with just how good this title is. Don't necessarily go out of your way for it, but if you do have the opportunity to watch then 'Sword of vengeance' and its successors are well worth checking out.
Ginrei no hate (1947)
Gathering strength results in an absorbing, entertaining, deeply satisfying classic
It's worth observing that this is relatively straightforward and fairly low-key. The former is demonstrated in the story of bank robbers hiding in the mountains that kicks up right away, and the latter is accentuated by loving footage of the surrounding environs, and a sequence of recreational skiing. There are absolutely more robust scenes befitting the premise, yet the drama is largely character-driven more than anything else, allowing the mindful, nuanced touch of the proceedings to carry disproportionate power in engaging us, and keeping us invested. So the footage of the snow-covered mountains is extra beautiful, quietly emphasizing the smallness of the characters and the human drama amidst the majesty of the natural world. Segawa Junichi's cinematography is smart and careful, and alongside both the direction and the editing of filmmaker Taniguchi Senkichi, the contribution almost serves to make the setting of the peaks into an imposing character unto itself, much like what we saw in the silent films of Swedish master Victor Sjöström. Ifukube Akira's score is marvelous, flavorful complement for the course of events, gradually building in strength just as the tale itself progresses in a more harrowing direction, and selective diegetic music is just as shrewd. And the cast give exceptional performances at all times to bear the momentous weight of the picture, as important in earlier exposition as in the most tense and suspenseful scenes to come. Japanese superstar Mifune Toshiro may hold more renown in retrospect as he makes his film debut as cold, hard-nosed Eijima, but equally recognizable Shimura Takashi is an utmost treasure as thoughtful, complicated Nojiro, and in fact his acting and emotional depth alone are so stupendous that he could have carried the feature all by himself. Kono Akitake is not nearly so famous as his co-stars, yet the warm range he illustrates as Honda is a tremendous finish adjoining the foremost stars; the same is less true of Wakayama Setsuko and Kodo Kokuten only because their parts are smaller.
The sets, costume design, hair, and makeup are really just as excellent, and definitely the stunts and practical effects that come into play. Yet all these are only the most outward facets of 'Snow trail' to greet us, and though at very first blush the movie may not be immediately striking, it unquestionably becomes more rich and absorbing as these eighty-nine minutes tick by. Even when one isn't watching something by Kurosawa Akira one still can't get away from him (as if we'd want to), and he notably penned the screenplay here. It surely feels like it, too, for within the entertaining surface level saga of robbers fleeing to the mountains, Kurosawa weaves a more substantive examination of humanity that is flush with the same endearing vitality that makes many of his own works including 'Red Beard' and 'Dersu Uzala.' The contrast between Nojiro and Eijima, and for that matter even Honda, is stark and glaring, and weirdly, I wonder if the viewing experience isn't bolstered by the fact that 77 years later Mifune catches our attention before Shimura. We look to the actor we know best, yet Kurosawa and Taniguchi's focus is on Nojiro even when Eijima is being extra gruff, and with that focus comes a potent emotional journey that at once supersedes, reinforces, and benefits from those moments of action. The characters and dialogue are underhandedly vibrant, the scene writing is splendidly strong, and the narrative is increasingly compelling and satisfying; Kurosawa once again proves his great skills even when he's not specifically behind the camera, and as Taniguchi subsequently shapes the title, the result is wonderfully impactful, and more than we would guess based on the first impression that 'Snow trail' makes.
I anticipated enjoying this, but all told it's even better than I could have hoped. The flick ranges from soft and unassuming, to violent and surprisingly jarring, to fantastically poignant, and all involved navigate that shift with ease and grace that's momentously gratifying. As if one had no other frames of reference I dare say this one piece firmly cements the skills and intelligence of all its participants, and I think most anyone could surely watch and find it just as rewarding. As a matter of personal preference it may not meet with equal favor for all, yet as far as I'm concerned 'Snow trail' is a terrific classic that holds up fabulously, and I'm pleased to give this film my very high, hearty, and enthusiastic recommendation!
Kingu Kongu tai Gojira (1962)
Very fun and unexpectedly solid, a kaiju classic
Let's get the bad news out of the way first, because this movie is not without weaknesses. One of those weaknesses, regrettably, is King Kong. It's not that the giant ape looks completely awful, but there are definitely some aspects of the design that are less than great: I understand the reason for having two different sets of arms for the suit, but the differences are glaringly apparent and look goofy; whenever we see close-ups of Kong's face, or the face requires some special movement or expression, it raises a skeptical eyebrow; the suit at large kind of looks patchy, as if the yak hair was applied and/or dyed unevenly. Some similar critiques apply to the Godzilla suit worn by Nakajima Haruo, but not to the same extent, and whenever Kong actor Hirose Shoichi is directed to run about waving his arms in the air, suffice to say that it doesn't come off well. Speaking of appearances, there is a lot of native exploitation going on with the indigenous people of Kong's home, Faro Island, and not of the sort that speaks to the major themes that informed 1933's 'King Kong,' nor the 1976 remake to come. There's also something extra icky about the brownface that the Japanese extras wear to portray said islanders. Of course that Pacific landmass is where we first meet Kong, and he's not alone; for all the inventiveness of the other megafauna, however, the fabricated practical effects that are employed to further represent it are bizarrely, gauchely subpar, and outdated by at least about ten years. And as one additional notable shortcoming, there are a few points where the writing very decidedly takes some shortcuts - declining sensible beats so that Movie Magic can move us toward the titular showdown. We know Toho's kaiju can do better, but here we are.
Yet while such matters come to our attention and absolutely merit discussion, none of them are so severe as to critically diminish the lasting value. Based on everything I had read of the film before watching I quite anticipated it to be a wholly preposterous romp, and at that probably a rather middling one; imagine my surprise when it turned out to be significantly better than I could have hoped! In fact, of any King Kong flicks that had been made from Merian C. Cooper and Ernest B. Schoedsack's essential progenitor, through to the tawdry 'King Kong lives' of 1986, this might be second only to the original; moreover, it surely is a surprisingly worthy entry in the enormous Godzilla franchise, too. There is some outright ridiculousness here, certainly, earning some laughs whether intentionally or not: the extra animated performance that Arishima Ichiro gives as Mr. Tako, the (literal) position Kong finds himself in before the climactic fight, some moments in the battles between the two colossi, and so on. There are also some creative choices made here and there which are just plain curious, provoking an unexpected reaction one way or another, and some less sure-footed contributions do occasionally rear their heads in most regards. Far more than not, however, 'King Kong vs. Godzilla' is astonishingly well made, and astonishingly earnest. This isn't merely some kooky, outlandish genre blast, but a carefully crafted kaiju picture that also happens to be marked with some imperfections. And I kind of love it.
I have to hand it to composer Ifukube Akira: he didn't need to go as hard as he did; all he had to do was compose a suitable complementary score that incorporated recognizable phrases. Well beyond that minimum, the main theme that first greets us over the opening credits is immediately grabbing, and he had my full attention before the story even began. That story, with exceptions, is gratifyingly well-written, from the undercurrents of satirizing contemporary television and marketing, to the silent nod to a prior Godzilla installment; from small character traits that are later woven back into the narrative in meaningful ways, to the broad strokes of the titans' respective entries into the saga, and where humans fit into the proceedings. The scene writing, too, is marvelously strong, and filmmaker Honda Ishiro demonstrates perfectly solid direction. To much the same end, Tsuburaya Eiji's oversight of the effects produced terrific results, and for that matter the visuals at large are outstanding. Yes, the kaiju suits bear faults, but the sets and miniatures are a wonderful sight for sore eyes, and all the practical effects are a joy; at their best Godzilla and King Kong do look pretty swell, the fight sequences are excellent, and even the consideration for lighting is quite welcome. Editor Kaneko Reiko is to be commended for some extra shrewd work, and Koizumi Hajime's cinematography is smart and vivid even through the slight variations in image quality that come with the most commonly available copies of the Japanese version. The human cast don't necessarily stand out all that much (Arishima aside), but all involved give fine performances to help bring the feature to life.
It has some flaws, and it sounds outwardly silly. Real skill and intelligence went into this production, however, and the final product reflects the care and passion of all who participated. Just as some moments are more questionable, some tidbits of rather brilliant - and regardless of how much we might scrutinize the whole affair, I don't think there's much arguing that it's roundly engaging, entertaining, and satisfying. I sat to watch with expectations that were mixed to low, and I for one am very pleased with just how good 'King Kong vs. Godzilla' actually is. It might not be a title one needs to go out of their way to see, but whether you're an especial fan of either monster or just looking for something fun it's well worth checking out, and I'm happy to give this (Japanese version) my enthusiastic recommendation!
The iDol (2006)
A delightfully fun little movie
This was notably the directorial debut for filmmaker Norman England, who has otherwise seemingly spent a lot of time in the industry in one capacity or another. Just as the modest production values and practical effects betray the low budget, the post-production effects also indicate the comparatively scarce resources, and are furthermore easily dated to the 2000s. Please note that none of this is specifically a mark against the movie - I find it irksome that "low-budget" is commonly held to mean something is inherently bad. Practical effects will always be preferable to digital wizardry, and those here look just swell in my book; where digital wizardry is less than perfectly seamless, whatever the reason, that's not inherently bad, either, and sometimes it's quite fitting for a piece. These are worthwhile observations to make, I think, just as other facets (like the soundtrack) further date the flick, and still it's all just part and parcel of a silly, fun-loving romp that's just here for a good time. And you know what? I think 'The idol' is excellent!
Clocking in at under one hour, England and Kaneko Jiro's story is fairly simple as a toy figure of extraterrestrial origin finds its way to Earth and into the life of nerdy collector Ken, and strange things begin to happen. Most every element of the production similarly shows its age and limited financial backing, or possibly the relative inexperience of those contributing. Yet whatever reflections we might make about the look and feel, the fact is that this little feature is quite well done exactly as it is, and moreover, it's utterly delightful! The cast is unfailingly charming and ably meets the needs of the tiny tale, with special commendations for primary star Sasaki Jin, and Hayase Erina. (Do also note a small appearance by effects maestro Yamazaki Takashi.) I actually very much admire England's direction, and Takaoka Hiroo's cinematography; some small moments are unexpectedly smart. Likewise, the screenplay is kind of brilliant, with some wonderfully clever ideas in the narrative and scene writing, and some meaningful themes woven in. 'The idol' may be a low-grade picture of no particular renown, and it would be easy to pass it by, but that would be a mistake in my opinion.
I can see the love and hard work that was poured into these fifty-three minutes, not to mention the skill and intelligence, and for as splendidly entertaining as it is, there is also a welcome earnestness underlying the outward ridiculousness. Scrutinizing the more fantastical visuals is beside the point when they look as good as they do: while the bulk of the title is very down to Earth, with lovely work from all to bolster the verisimilitude, where the props, costume design, sound effects, tangible creations, production design and art direction, and even computer-generated imagery are sparingly employed to more whimsical ends (chiefly at, well, the end), I for one think the result looks terrific. The rock and pop may be easily dated but the tunes are still catchy, and I like Otani Kow's complementary score. Really, from top to bottom the film may not look like much, but the heart and sincerity is undeniable, and I fully recognize the love and care that went into it to make it both highly enjoyable and softly substantive. What more could we ask for?
Don't let the unassuming appearance put you off. This is a really good time, with fine work from all involved to bring it to life, and as far as I'm concerned it is a tremendous success. Diminutive in size and scope, the result is actually a blast to a degree that no few bigger and longer movies can only wish they could achieve. I find 'The idol' to be an unlikely gem of a mini sci-fi comedy, and I'm happy to give it my high and hearty recommendation!
Gion no shimai (1936)
An absorbing, upstanding classic
Save for that they were effectively made and released back to back it's not necessary to mention this picture's semi-companion piece, 'Osaka elegy,' but it is useful in some measure to draw comparison. Even as the latter was stuffed full of drama, I felt that the pacing, editing, and tone diminished the impact of the tale for a fair portion of the length as scenes flitted to and fro. 'Sisters of the Gion,' thankfully, is free of these issues, and it moreover begins to lay out its cards quite quickly and neatly at the start in imparting the story of geisha sisters Omocha and Umekichi. Yamada Isuzu and Umemura Yoko, notably returning alongside other cast and crew members from the film of a few months before to again collaborate with filmmaker Mizoguchi Kenji, very distinctly play characters of a different tenor, with different personalities and arcs, and they do so with all the skilled range and poise, and nuanced emotional depth, that one would assume. One discernible similarity I believe this does share with its chronological predecessor is that it shows itself to be a little imperfect, yet the overall strength handily outshines any subjective faults, and there's not much arguing that this is a classic well deserving of its reputation.
All the above, good and ill, revolves around the writing that plays up the sharp contrast between the sisters. Omocha is headstrong, obstinate, willful, and when it comes to men, extra curt and dismissive; her perspective is that since men are only out to exploit women, there's no reason why she in turn shouldn't manipulate them for her own gain. Elder sister Umekichi, on the other hand, is submissive, demure, kind, and loyal, and believes utmost devotion to a patron is the ideal. This is the core of 'Sisters of the Gion,' and it's a terrifically strong foundation for the flavorful scene writing and absorbing narrative to come.
The difficulty I see to one degree or another is that the preponderance of the length focuses heavily on Omocha, relegating Umekichi to a relatively small corner. One might observe this to be a meta reflection of the sisters' outlooks, yet the whole seems a smidgen imbalanced generally as the notion of contrast becomes secondary, and particularly as the course of events comes to a head and Mizoguchi's full intent becomes clear. The ending finds both Omocha and Umekichi in a sorry state - emphatically underscoring that, whether women play by men's rules in a patriarchal society or dare to challenge their dominance on their own terms, men will mistreat women as it suits them so long as society at large allows that structure and those dynamics to endure. Potent, crucial, and unmistakable as these themes are, their dispensation in the final minutes feels imprecise owing to the intended contrast, to the imbalance in how that contrast is presented, and to the specific way in which the final scenes are written. Granted, it's also possible that since the extant feature is seemingly missing some footage, the lost sequences may have been ones to help rectify these matters. One way or another, while the power of the writing and 'Sisters of the Gion' remains, the result as we see it does feel marginally muddled where it counts most.
Be that as it may, the ideas central to the title are as admirable as the crux of a piece of fiction as they are important as the substance for audiences to take away from the viewing experience. The value here far outweighs any perceived shortcomings, and this absolutely extends to all other facets of the production. In fact, in every other capacity I think this demonstrates irrefutable refinement over the contributions seen in 'Osaka elegy.' I appreciate Sakune Tatsuko's editing where I didn't before; Miki Minoru's cinematography is just as smart and vibrant, and likewise Mizoguchi's shot composition and otherwise direction. Free of troubled pacing or tone, the plot is readily compelling and keeps us invested, and I think the more fluid narrative flow also benefits the acting as we see it - which, again, is altogether excellent, even as Yamada and Umemura stand out most. The sets and filming locations are as lovely as the costume design, hair, and makeup, and in every other regard the movie impresses as being very solidly made.
It's possible that I'm nitpicking. After all, ultimately that slight roughness in the writing is well outshone by how engaging, engrossing, and satisfying the saga is, and otherwise I've no criticisms to make; I really do think 'Sisters of the Gion' to be the better film when stood next to 'Osaka elegy.' No matter how much one is inclined to scrutinize, what it comes down to is that this is a fantastic, classic piece of Japanese cinema, and one that sadly remains all too relevant to real life. As a matter of personal preference it won't appeal to all, but the possible faults are fairly minor all told, and the weight this carries makes it well worth watching. I'd stop short of saying it's a total must-see, but if you have the opportunity to watch then I'm glad to give 'Sisters of the Gion' my high recommendation.
Naniwa erejî (1936)
Potent writing, an overall fine film, if a bit imperfect in execution
While I fully recognize the esteem in which Mizoguchi Kenji is held, even among the most highly regarded classics not all pictures will find equal favor with all comers. In watching 'Osaka elegy' I freely admit that it took me a fair portion of the abbreviated runtime to really start to get into it, in no small part because this carries itself with such light, casual airs. Like too many films to come out of Hollywood and England in the 30s, to some degree this one bears the dubious distinction of being broadly well made, yet too often struggling to make a major impression. These seventy-one minutes burst at the seams with drama, yet the proceedings flit so airily from one scene of sorry business to another - moreover with pacing and editing that are a tad brusque, and with a dry, flat tone - that the beats have difficulty landing with the impact that they should. Only with considerable irregularity does it feel like everything is coming together in the ideal manner, and mostly within the last ten minutes.
This is deeply unfortunate, for I plainly see the excellence that the feature bears in other capacities. Though the execution is a bit muddled, the writing at large is superb with vivid characterizations, piercing dialogue, robust scene writing, and a strong, compelling narrative. The story and its themes are decidedly uncomfortable and more than a little infuriating as switchboard operator Ayako is thrust into a compromising position, is continually exploited or scapegoated as suits the needs of others, and ultimately falls into some measure of ruin merely for daring to try to assert some agency - and for trusting others. Cruelty, pride, hypocrisy, disloyalty, and dishonesty are the order of the day even among supporting characters who at other points seem deserving of sympathy as no one will stand up for Ayako except herself; her behavior may be less than impeccable, yet if she in any way represents a "fallen woman" it's only because of how others have treated her, how she has been forced to look out for herself, and how society judges each in turn. Would that the vibrancy that comes to bear through the sum total, and the mindful care that conjures it, were more present for more of the movie, for all these notions are as despairingly relevant to modern society in 2024 as they were in Japan at the time Mizoguchi made 'Osaka elegy,' and oh boy do I have feelings about that.
While undoubtedly owing in part to the sensibilities of 30s culture in addition to the filmmaker's own sagacity, this title rolls out that story with a restraint, and a declination of more outward sensationalism, that is a refreshing change of pace compared to more recent works of a similar nature that may be flush with violence, sex, and nudity. Unlike the issues I first noted, though, that reserved tenor in no way diminishes the eventual power of the narrative. In fact, observed weaknesses aside, the overall strength of the storytelling and the film-making is firm and striking. I could do with more of a presence for Takagi Koichi's music, for its common absence is noted, and where it does raise its head it adds considerably to the tableau. Miki Minoru's cinematography is unexpectedly smart in helping to shape the whole and bolster the drama; with exceptions, the use of light and shadow and even Mizoguchi's shot composition are rather fetching. Not to discount anyone else's contributions, including the lovely sets and costume design, but one would also be remiss not to mention the acting. It's not that anyone in the cast gives an especially stunning performance; rather, all very ably inhabit their characters with meaningful, admirable personality and nuance. Yamada Isuzu absolutely stands out most as Ayako, the leading role that allows her the most opportunity to demonstrate her skills, but at large her co-stars are just as swell. 'Osaka elegy' is marked with regrettable imperfections, but at its best I can certainly see where its reputation comes from.
I do wish that the viewing experience were a smidgen more even. While the narrative arc as a storytelling device almost invariably means a progression of building strength, the fact is that this flick doesn't inspire at first blush, and the problems I first mentioned do wear on the entirety. With that said, however, all told the picture is far better than not, and with a fine finish, the lasting memory 'Osaka elegy' provides is of its keen value, less than pristine though it may be. Just as my own opinion isn't black and white I'm sure there are folks whose perspective is more stark, one way or the other; personal preference will vary. At the end of the day what it comes down to is that this holds up marvelously well more than not, with the caveat that the execution leaves something to be desired. It may not completely demand viewership, but even with some shortcomings 'Osaka elegy' is a terrific film, and I'm glad to give it my solid recommendation.
Speak Easily (1932)
Strength builds from a weak start and leads to a fantastically fun finish!
And again the question: how would a star who enjoyed tremendous success in the silent era fare in the time of sound? Within even the previous couple of years before this, even Buster Keaton showed that he wasn't immune to diminishing strength, as 'Sidewalks of New York' was quite middling. What of 1932's 'Speak easily?' The bad news is that in a runtime of eighty minutes the first impressions that this makes are a sign of trouble, for there are scenes where raucousness for its own sake, meant to be funny, becomes tiresome; alternatively, where an actor sharing a scene with Keaton carries the same energy as mild-mannered protagonist Professor Post, the bit kind of falls flat. Elsewhere the writing or direction simply fail to excite despite everyone's best efforts; at its most mediocre this reflects the sort of 30s cinema that was broadly well made but which left no mark. Whatever our opinion of the picture may be all told, at first blush it doesn't necessarily meet the standard Keaton had set for himself as recently as a few years before.
The good news, however, is that such distinct weak spots and unevenness that first catch our attention also begin to fade pretty quickly, and the strength of the presentation indisputably builds as it progresses. In fact, when all is said and done, this is a blast!
There is welcome cleverness in the situational humor, some scene writing, and the dynamics between characters, particularly when the aloof professor is on hand; some gags and instances of physical comedy are just swell. Though they struggle under the least sure-footed moments in the script or Edward Sedgwick's direction, at large the cast readily embrace the frivolity and bring marvelous energy to the proceedings, with Keaton, Jimmy Durante, Ruth Selwyn, and Thelma Todd naturally standing out most, among others. Imperfect though it may be, the movie certainly earns some laughs, more so in the latter half and above all at the climax. The writing could be a little better about communicating plot development at some junctures, and about balancing the comedic and dramatic elements, yet at length these aren't so important. Anyway, overall the story is just fine as Clarence Budington Kelland's novel is ripe for cinematic treatment. Factor in excellent contributions from all those operating behind the scenes - sets, costume design, hair, makeup, stunts, effects, editing, and so on - and generally speaking 'Speak easily' is fairly solid.
The humor sometimes lands a hair too softly, and the film doesn't consistently achieve the same big reactions as the likes of 'The Navigator,' 'The General,' or 'Go west.' Be that as it may, all involved wished only to entertain, and I'd be plainly lying if I said that goal was not handily met. Just as the title has some low points, it also boasts terrific sparks of vitality peppered throughout; to one degree or another the sum total is much stronger than not, and gratifyingly, it can absolutely claim a fantastic finish. Honestly, while I had my doubts at first, by the time the curtain falls I only find myself wishing that the earlier scenes were as mindfully penned and orchestrated as those to come later on. It's not a totally essential must-see like some of its brethren, but ultimately it is a rather splendid success. With the best tidbits surely recalling the Keaton classics we love most, if one has the opportunity to watch then 'Speak easily' is light fun that's well worth checking out.
Gokudô daisensô (2015)
Fine potential for outlandish fun, but it's just ideas loosely thrown at a wall
There is a time for earnest, compelling cinema, and there is a time for wild genre romps. I'm certainly not saying that Miike Takashi isn't capable of the former, but he plies his trade predominantly with the latter, and for better or for worse - in one way or another - he's good at it. Exactly how much his films are worth watching is sometimes another question, but the man has a sharp predilection of style, and one generally can't accuse him of sloppy or halfhearted work. Significant violence, blood, and gore; bizarre imagery or notions primed for surreal horror, science fiction, or dark fantasy; substantial sex and nudity, not to mention tough-talking machismo supersaturated with testosterone even outside the common exploration of yakuza figures: these are Miike's staples, even if they are not uniformly proliferate through each and every one of his features. It's safe to say that 'Yakuza apocalypse,' ostensibly about a vampire yakuza boss, is exactly what anyone would expect along these lines if they spend any time examining the director. It also makes some of his strangest efforts seem sensible, though, and even if you're utterly on board with such fare, I hardly think it's something that demands attention. Still, if you're in the mood for a flick of the anticipated nature, then you'll more or less get what you came for.
So we're treated to far-fetched costume design, hair, makeup, props, and weapons, and even the lighting and cinematography are stylized. There are effects both practical and digital, with the former always superior and the latter ranging in quality (and always worse the more we see of them); the stunts, fight choreography, and action sequences serve their purpose in one measure or another. The production design, art direction, and filming locations are fitting for a modern-day genre flick that splits the difference between Grim Dark and playfully sensationalist. The nature of the piece allows the cast, no matter the size of their parts, to just go completely wild, with the foremost stars occasionally being required to demonstrate more honest range and nuance (and not without success). Endo Koji's music lends able flavor to the proceedings - possibly the most consistent highlight for the average viewer. And the craftsmanship of the picture is solid at large, including crisp sound and Miike's direction.
Then again, 'Yakuza apocalypse' unfailingly gives the impression that Miike conjured the screenplay with writer Yamaguchi Yoshitaka around very select, emphatic ideas: a yakuza vampire here, a death scene there; particular oddball imagery, shots, or character designs, tinges of Japanese folklore, and inflated notions of yakuza mythologizing; and some other specific scenes, character interactions, or dialogue. Such hugely disparate thoughts come across as the true loose foundation for the whole shebang, with the remainder of the story being shaped piecemeal around those pillars - not unlike how some of Jackie Chan's Hong Kong vehicles were accordingly written to incorporate stunts that had already been devised. Only, for as very scattered and far-flung as the notions herein are, the writing that supposedly binds them often barely seems to be holding itself together, and in many instances not at all. It's what happens when a filmmaker says "what if we put this and that and the other thing into one movie" and assembles storyboards for no more than perhaps one-fifth to one-quarter of the length. It's what happens when anything goes in a game of "connect the dots," but the line that is drawn may or may not pass through every dot on one page, and may instead pass through dots in entirely different books. It's what happens when you write a single sentence using the Latin alphabet, Japanese kanji, Persian script, and the Wingdings font.
So, yes, we get what we came for, and for the most part this is well made such as it is. To what end, though? Is "just because" enough? There are countless other films we could watch that frolic with similar vibes (whatever it is, exactly, that one wants), and which also toy with legendary creatures and/or yakuza alongside other outlandish odds and ends - but which also enjoy the benefit of a carefully written, meaningful, impactful, thrilling, and/or compelling plot. There is a plot in 'Yakuza apocalypse,' sure, but it's the result of throwing ideas at a wall, haphazardly including whatever happened to land within a certain arbitrarily chosen area, and otherwise slapping something together. I don't dislike this feature, and some bits and bobs are low-key brilliant in their own astonishingly weird way. What it lacks, however, is the cohesiveness that was necessary for any of its potential to have truly been met. Even other Miike outrageousness like 'Gozu' has been more sure-footed, convincing, and fun.
Now, if you're someone who watches Miike or like-minded filmmakers and finds yourself to fully exist on the same wavelength, deeply appreciating all the wackiest things they've ever done, then this will be right up your alley. I don't know why you're even bothering to read these words. On the other hand, if you desire rhyme and reason in your cinema - no matter how abstruse, thin, or difficult - then the picture becomes much harder to appreciate, try as we might, and its 115 minutes seem to stretch on for much longer than they are. I'll watch almost anything, and find value in almost anything, but the one criterion I have is a through-line of some variety that is discernible on some level. As such a through-line is elusive here, my favor can only extend so far. I'm genuinely glad for those who get more out of 'Yakuza apocalypse' than I do; I need something with a stronger, more definitive unity of vision.
Anata kaimasu (1956)
Excellent & smartly thought-provoking, if dispiriting (and maybe a little imperfect)
In the course of watching, this made a few different impressions at different points. What first struck me was that in a time when the broad genre of "sports drama" is filled with cookie-cutter stories of struggle and triumph over adversity and long odds, it's refreshing to see those relative few that approach the subject matter from a different angle. Second was that Kobayashi Masaki's unmistakable condemnation of the extant sports establishment, ruled by money and perceived commercial value, was lessened in some measure by the presence of a character who showed some semblance of conscience, like Watanabe Kanji in Kurosawa Akira's 'Ikiru'; then again, as the length draws on, both these factors strengthen until the second impression morphs into the fourth. The third impression, that there comes a point where the proceedings feel overlong and lagging, may still remain true but fades into the background in the last stretch as that fourth impression, and the fifth and last, take over. Strong as 'I will buy you' is overall, it bears extra power in the last ten minutes or so, and in so doing reminds of other titles that happen to follow a similar pattern (e.g. Celine Song's 'Past lives,' Ang Lee's 'Brokeback Mountain,' Martin Scorsese's 'Killers of the flower moon'). In the case of this picture, though, that power is twisted into a level of condemnation that stops just short of Abel Gance vehemently lashing out with 1919's anti-war epic 'J'accuse,' and which at its peak more closely minds of the wholly bleak assessment of humanity that is Billy Wilder's 'Ace in the hole.' 'I will buy you' is a sports drama, technically, but through the lens of critiquing modern (contemporary) baseball, it has just as much to say about people and society at large, and ultimately Kobayashi does not mince words.
Through to the end and the very last moments I don't think the feature is flawless in its tone, pacing, length, or otherwise conveyance of its ideas, and the impact this carries is a little less than it would have been otherwise. Be that as it may, in adapting the source material, the filmmaker and co-writer Matsuyama Zenzo take a long, hard look at the extent of the infection in sports of money and business sensibilities. In so doing the film speaks to the pernicious corrupting influence of capitalism, to the cynicism and mistrust that it breeds, and to the way that our occupations and otherwise places in such a baneful system demand - nay, require - that we forsake our sincerity and values, or at least relegate them to a small hole where they can be locked away, diminishing ourselves in turn. While the primary focus here is on sports and baseball, news media also fall under Kobayashi's crosshairs, and these are nothing if not a microcosm through which the man assails humanity at large. Can you even imagine what Kobayashi might have to say about the state of these in 2024?
Despite imperfections this is far better than not, and very much engrossing and satisfying. If long in the tooth the narrative is compelling even in its dreariness, and the scene writing is unfailingly sharp and vivid, as the writing arguably takes center stage. The cast are superb in bringing the sorry tableau to life, with fantastic performances of range, nuance, physicality, and at times notable emotional depth realizing these characters who are trapped in the quagmire of a culture driven by money. Sada Keiji and Ito Yunosuke surely stand out most as Kishimoto and Kyuki, both for their prominence and the skills that their parts allow them to demonstrate, but this is hardly to count out Kishi Keiko, Oki Minoru, or Mito Mitsuko, among others, who all unquestionably have their time to shine as the tale progresses. Other elements of the movie are less outwardly noteworthy, but rest assured that the production design and art direction, costume design, cinematography, editing, and not least Kobayashi's direction are all solid and commendable in putting this together.
It may not be an immediately striking, impeccable lightning bolt of brilliance like some other titles, including some others in Kobayashi's body of work, but the clarity of intent and the vibrancy of the themes absolutely come across in the storytelling and in the acting. As other participants round out the proceedings with fine, able contributions, the end result really is absorbing, and hits hard, even if the execution slightly falters. All told the flick may not totally demand viewership, yet whether one is a fan of Kobayashi or someone else involved, has some other special impetus to watch, or is just looking for something good, when all is said and done it continues to hold up and is well worth checking out. For various reasons it won't appeal to all comers, and it bears repeating that the overarching mood is decidedly dour. If that tenor and a few minor faults are no obstacle, though, 'I will buy you' is an excellent, thought-provoking picture, and I'm pleased to give it my firm recommendation.
Captain Ron (1992)
Duly enjoyable; very familiar, but solid enough
It's only fair to enter this with mixed expectations. Comedies that more or less bend toward a family demographic are usually hit or miss, and as this ultimately falls under the auspices of Disney by way of Touchstone and Buena Vista, that's just what we get here even as it exceeds a conventional PG rating. The genre was a dime a dozen in the 90s especially, and given its 1992 release, one has to wonder how the humor will hold up. Then again, there's promise in the atypical arrangement of Martin Short playing the straight man, allowing Kurt Russell to ham it up and let loose as the title character; that Russell effectively dresses as the Summer Fun variant of Snake Plissken is a delightful bonus. As I started watching, something unlikely happened: I found myself really enjoying this! I'm not saying that 'Captain Ron' is a must-see classic, but for whatever criticisms we may lay at its feet, overall the movie is a pretty good time, and one can't ask for much more than that.
Sure, there are familiar, tried and true elements here. Father Martin is kind of stodgy and uptight as he wants to do well by his family; that family boasts additional stock characterizations as the mother, teenage daughter, and young son are charmed by an outsider, and start to pick up some skills through him; Captain Ron is an eccentric wildcard, and less than perfectly competent, but he definitely is charming, with hidden depths. Moreover, some of the humor is geared for youthful audiences as pure silliness sometimes takes over, especially for young Benjamin Salisbury. A bit more surprising is the reminder that up through the early to mid-90s "family-friendly" sometimes meant "PG-13" material, and "PG-13" material meant sexuality, no small amount of profanity, and other comparatively adult situations that would never pass muster in more recent Disney productions. One forgets such things when they go a long time without watching similar fare of past years.
Yet while such minutiae are noteworthy, they don't majorly impact the picture. Stripped to its bones the scenario may be rather conventional; on the other hand, for a 90s production, my concerns of the writing having not aged well turned out to be overwrought. Granted, there is the tired jingoist canard about Cuba being inherently evil because of communism (gag me with a spoon). By and large, however, 'Captain Ron' really is a blast. Say what one will about the tropes, the narrative and scene writing are solid, with themes that are admirable, if ordinary, of character growth and a family coming together. Russell is a reliable joy, and the cast otherwise give fine performances to ably bring the tale and the humor to fruition. And whatever else may be true of this flick, it really does earn some laughs, and capably entertains, with situational humor, sharp dialogue, fun character writing, and gags and physical comedy aplenty. The film is no revelation, but it's all that it needs to be.
Rounded out with fine craftsmanship on all fronts - stunts and effects, production design and art direction, costume design, hair, makeup, cinematography, and so on - I'm pleasantly surprised by just how good it turned out to be. True, it may be too lighthearted for some older viewers, and too coarse for some of the youngest viewers; the "happy medium" for the type of audience this wants to attract ultimately exists along a fairly narrow band. However much we may scrutinize the details, though, when all is said and done the fact remains that in general this is just swell, a minor joy. Not every feature needs to be a rapturous treasure; 'Captain Ron' knows its place, and I'm happy with it just as it is. One way or another it's not something one needs to go out of their way to see, but if you do have the chance too watch, I'm glad to give this my soft recommendation.
Koroshi no rakuin (1967)
Strange and intoxicating, uniquely blending styles and genres into something special
Comedy can be hard. The more subtle your brand is, the more meticulous the doing has to be. This 1967 feature definitely has its moments of being more plainly absurdist, almost carrying parodying energy, but significant portions are quietly wry and offbeat. The dividing line between the humor and the root yakuza story is often thin, if not sometimes indistinguishable, and at other times a mile wide, to say nothing of certain art film sensibilities that work their way into the presentation throughout the runtime. There's nothing specifically wrong with any of this, yet the simple fact of the matter is that there are delicate but definite differences in the type of entertainment to be had from different types of movies, and the mixture here sits at an odd juncture that's hard to describe. This, too is fine, but how does one begin to meaningfully dissect and analyze a feature that's sort of all over the place? If one in any way finds the amalgamation enjoyable, how does one subsequently offer a cogent, meaningful recommendation? I'm not sure I have the answers in this case, but I do know that 'Branded to kill' is a strange, rather intoxicating ride, and while one might draw comparisons to this or that, there's really nothing entirety quite like it. More than that, when all is said and done, I kind of love it.
I thought I knew what I was in for when I sat to watch, but I actually find myself very much understanding why this wasn't received so well upon release, and why production company Nikkatsu was initially so incensed at the gall of filmmaker Suzuki Seijun. There comes a point where the overall narrative, while remaining cohesive and coherent in following hitman Hanada, gradually shifts more toward playful incongruity and flippant bizarrerie as the scene writing definitively embraces a more scattered, oddball approach. Though along that same broad progression, the tone shifts wildly between crime drama, outright violence, fetishism and eroticism, "New Wave" pretensions, kooky comedy, shrewd artistic considerations, and even some surrealist overtones, meshing as neatly as it could in a picture of this nature with similar jolting leaps in Suzuki's direction and shot composition, in the acting, in Nagatsuka Kazue's cinematography, absolutely in Tanji Mutsuo's editing, and more. Through all this one furthermore discerns echoes of classic gangster flicks, film noir, The Ghosts of Filmmakers Yet To Come (Quentin Tarantino, Guy Ritchie), sex comedies, pure farces, and yes, still more - all while the sum total of the visuals results in a frankly dazzling presentation that often recalls the treasured style of classics like 'The third man,' 'The trial,' or 'Touch of evil.'
It's a hodgepodge, yet none of it is accidental or sloppy. On the contrary, I fully recognize the impeccable skill and intelligence in the direction, and what ultimately comes across in the writing as downright brilliance. Both as written and executed there are many sequences herein that are altogether ingenious, and at length, only more so because they ride the unlikely line between so many genres of storytelling and film-making. The filming locations are exceptional, and the production design and art direction wonderfully sharp, just like the costume design, hair, and makeup. The stunts, effects, and action scenes are unfailingly excellent, and I can only salute those who worked on the title's sound in any capacity, too. I admire the cast as they deftly navigate the difficult spaces between so many moods with terrific range and physicality, above all star Shishido Jo. Yamamoto Naozumi's music is employed more sparingly, yet adds splendid flavor where it does pop up. Event he use of lighting and shadow is fantastic. In every regard, really, 'Branded to kill' is tremendously smart and well made - it just also happens to be a curious blend that throws a little bit of everything together, and does so in a fashion as suitable for wholly earnest drama or action-thrillers as for frivolous comedy.
It won't appeal to all comers, and any recommendation must necessarily be paired with a lot of verbiage just to give a vague sense of what one is getting into. If you're open to all the wide, weird possibilities of the medium, however, and ready to engage honestly with whatever comes your way, then 'Branded to kill' is a delightfully fun, engrossing, and satisfying slice of cinema that's well worth our patience. If at first it's hard to parse, over time the film ably gels into something very unique, and as far as I'm concerned this is a minor gem that deserves more visibility.