Review #985: 'Samurai Rebellion' (1967)

In Masaki Kobayashi's Samurai Rebellion, Toshiro plays a skilled swordsman named Isaburo, a silent type who places honour and family above everything else. In many ways, Isaburo is like the humble American cowboy of old, and the Japanese samurai movies themselves share many of the same qualities of the Western - an almost mythical historical setting where good battles bad, albeit often on a larger scale. Yet the samurai movies seem infinitely more complex beneath the surface, satirising a time where feudal lords reigned over vast areas of land and the common-folk and nobles were kept in line by social rigidity.

Isaburo has lived most of his life by this code. Having suffered in silence following years being henpecked by his wife who he married on the order of his daimyo, he has nonetheless proven himself to be the greatest swordsman in the land, winning the respect of his superiors in the process. It is because of this reputation that his son Yogoro (Go Kato) is chosen as the husband for their lords ex-concubine Lady Ichi (Yoko Tsukasa), who had previously given birth to a potential heir but now banished from her lords castle after disgracing herself. Isaburo reluctantly accepts the proposal and the marriage surprisingly turns out to be a loving one. But when his heir dies unexpectedly and Ichi's child moves next in line, the lord demands that Ichi be returned to the castle. Yogoro refuses and, moved by their true love, Isaburo takes a stand next to his son.

Even when they aren't inspired by the Bard, these types of movies always have a Shakespearian quality. As all the pieces are carefully moved into place for the final showdown, Samurai Rebellion builds towards inevitable Greek tragedy. There are no huge Kurosawa-esque battles here, but plenty of inner turmoil as Isaburo wrestles with obeying his liberty-taking ruler and standing for what he knows is right. After years of tending to his clans armoury (this is set during the peaceful Edo period), Isaburo gleefully cries out that he has never felt so alive. The finale is a bloody set-piece that demonstrates Mifune's natural skill with a blade as Isaburo lets loose, and is the perfect ending to a film built on hushed glances and political manoeuvring. One of the finest examples of its genre.


Directed by: Masaki Kobayashi
Starring: Toshirô Mifune, Yôko Tsukasa, Gô Katô, Tatsuyoshi Ehara
Country: Japan

Rating: *****

Tom Gillespie

Review #472: 'Yojimbo' (1961)

A perfect example of how film style can be influential across continents, and can project that influence back into a dying genre, Akira Kurosawa's Yojimbo took its plot from Dashiell Hammett's crime novel 'Red Harvest' (which also influenced Miller's Crossing (1990)), retold as a samurai jidai-geki (Japanese period film), but fundamentally the film was a stylistic homage to the widescreen American westerns, of particularly John Ford. By the 1960's the western genre was diminished in the United States, but Italian director Sergio Leone borrowed the entire scenario of Yojimbo (this translates as The Bodyguard), cast then unknown Clint Eastwood, and made one of the greatest westerns, A Fistful of Dollars (1964). Kurosawa's influence can be seen in many post-1960's American directors in a wide range of styles and genres.

Set in the 1860's, where the shogunate, samurai tradition was suffering due to modernisation and changing attitudes. The lone samurai figure (known here by a false name, Sanjuro), played by Kurosawa's favourite actor, Toshiro Mifune, arrives in a feuding small town. Two rival gangs fight and bicker to gain total control over territory, and Mifune, a hired killer, brings his own bitter vengeance, and begins playing off the rival gangs off of one another. He changes sides at whim, and bargains for the greatest offering of money. His skills as a samurai are displayed when he first arrives in town, and his abilities are lauded, and the head of each gang vies for the samurai's attention, and for the chance to win the war.

Kurosawa's love of the widescreen format (tohoscope is used here - the branded system - like technoscope/vitascope et al. - for Japan's Toho studios that Kurosawa was working under), is obvious, and he uses it incredibly well. The incredible widescreen compositions are a beauty to behold, enhanced by black and white photography and the cinematography of Kazuo Miyagawa. Kurosawa was also a master of atmosphere, from character tensions to the more ethereal: Capturing feudal hostilities in western genre iconographic imagery, the opposing groups standing at each end of the street, Kurosawa adds the consistent movement of the wind moving the autumnal leaves - this is the kind of detail that heightens the visual experience.

Kurosawa's influence is undisputed (George Lucas - living off his one idea as he does - was hugely influenced), his style and storytelling genius would be hard not to homage - or "borrow" from. His imagery alone stand as fundamentally beautiful, the compositions' mis-en-scene holding the story together, making it believable and in fact becomes the films foundation - you could easily watch the film with the sound off, and still become totally absorbed in the story. With a genuine sense of humour (very black humour consequently), the film shows its intentions as a funny story about the foolish nature of war, in a diminishing world of tradition and the coming of modernity, with all of its machinery.


Directed by: Akira Kurosawa
Starring: Toshirô Mifune, Tatsuya Nakadai, Yôko Tsukasa, Isuzu Yamada
Country: Japan

Rating: *****

Marc Ivamy