Review #1,378: 'The Life of Oharu' (1952)

Although much of Kenji Mizoguchi's early work is now lost, the Japanese director is regarded as one of the country's finest thanks mainly to a handful of films made in the 1950s, many of which are considered masterpieces. The likes of Ugetsu Monogatari, Sansho the Bailiff and Street of Shame will no doubt be known to anyone with a keen interest in cinema, but none have the same lasting impression as The Life of Oharu, Mizoguchi's tale of one woman's plight in 1600's Japan. He was considered one of the first feminist directors, and much of his life was spent writing about their mistreatment at the hands of a matriarchal society rooted in class tradition. He was also known for frequenting brothels, but rather than paying for their services, Mizoguchi would instead listen to their stories. We meet Oharu (Kinuyo Tanaka) as a middle-aged prostitute, spending her nights by the city's gates begging or trying to sell her body to drunken wanderers.

She tells her friends how earlier that night an older man had brought her to a home full of young men, displaying her ageing face to the group as a way to convince them not to pay for prostitutes. They ask Oharu about her past, but she doesn't want to talk about it. Visiting a Buddhist temple, she notices that one of the statutes of Buddha bares a striking resemblance to her one and only love, a lowly retainer named Katsunosuke (Toshiro Mifune). Decades earlier, Oharu was a woman of high station, and shunned the advances of the young page simply because society wouldn't allow it. She could not resist true love however, and the two are eventually caught. While he is sent to the chopping block, Oharu's family are stripped of their status and forced to live out in the country. Her father (Ichiro Sugai) blames Oharu, but his attitude changes when she is chosen to produce the heir of Lord Matsudaira (Toshiaki Konoe). However, she is banished after giving birth to a boy to return to a family who will soon sell her into prostitution.

What transpires is a series of cruel punishments inflicted on our protagonist, and tragedy is born out of the fact that Oharu makes few of her own choices. There seems to be no place for true love in this society, something that still effects many countries today. A system seems to be in place that deflects the blame from the men who usher Oharu into these positions. She eventually serves as a maid, but loses her post when she is recognised from her days as a prostitute, and is even turned away from becoming a nun because of her 'sinful' past. The plot may sound like pure melodrama, but Mizoguchi is careful to avoid using broad strokes or losing focus of the larger picture. The camera is mostly still and precise, and also keeps its distance. Mizoguchi isn't interested in grand emotive close-ups - he wants you to see the whole picture as Oharu is shoved through her life like a puppet of little value. Most of us have gone through our lives making choices based on our core values, having the opportunity to stand up against anything that may threaten our moral code. The Life of Oharu is about a character completely stripped of this freedom, and her strength to bend rather than break. It's incredibly bleak stuff, but a masterpiece of measured character study.


Directed by: Kenji Mizoguchi
Starring: Kinuyo Tanaka, Tsukie Matsuura, Ichirô Sugai, Toshirô Mifune
Country: Japan

Rating: *****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,328: 'Grand Prix' (1966)

The early 1960s saw the beginning of a rivalry between two competing films set amongst the world of Formula One. Lee H. Katzin's Day of the Champion, starring Steve McQueen, was to focus on a particularly gruelling 24-hour race, France's Le Mans, while John Frankenheimer would shoot Grand Prix, a luxurious ensemble piece boasting a handful of the industry's biggest names, on 70mm Cinerama, in what would be one of the final films to showcase the technique before it became defunct. It was a race to hit the cinema screens first, with both movies experiencing issues during production. Day of the Champion would later be re-titled Le Mans, and wouldn't see a release until 1971, a whopping five years late. Grand Prix emerged as the winner, winning multiple Academy Awards in the technical department and boasting racing scenes that haven't been matched since.

While Le Mans' focus was solely on the racing, Grand Prix has larger ambitions. On top of a number of extended racing scenes, the story also gets bogged down by various melodramatic sub-plots involving a few of the drivers and their romantic engagements. Our main heroes are Jean-Pierre Sarti (Yves Montand), a French multiple champion reaching the end of a decorated career; Pete Aron (James Garner), an American looking to salvage his career after he signs up with Yamura Motors; Nino Barlini (Antonio Sabato), an arrogant but promising rookie who plays second fiddle to Sarti; and Scott Stoddard (Brian Bedford), a British driver looking to get back behind the wheel following a horrific crash. Away from the track, their personal lives resemble a soap opera. Aron grows close to Pat (Jessica Walter), Stoddard's estranged wife, while the married Sarti embarks on an affair with American journalist Louise Frederickson (Eva Marie Saint).

This is the sort of lavish, star-studded production that was so common in the 1960s, offering a new familiar face in what feels like every scene. There's also an international flavour to the impressive cast, with the likes of Adolfo Celi, Toshiro Mifune and Claude Dauphin popping up, to name but a few. The hysterical dramatics drag the running time to just shy of three hours - complete with intermission - and Grand Prix ultimately succeeds on the strength of its racing scenes alone. Strapping a camera on top, on the side, and seemingly everywhere but underneath the vehicle, Frankenheimer thrusts you straight to the head of the action. Also employing split-screens, this is one of the most dazzlingly stylish films of its day. Despite not being a Formula One fan in the slightest, I found the time spend on the track exhilarating. The growls of the engines combined with the angles of the camera place you front and centre, almost as if you were right there behind the wheel. As a pure thrill ride, it's one of the very best, it's just a shame that we have to sit through 90 minutes of melodramatics in between.


Directed by: John Frankenheimer
Starring: Yves Montand, James Garner, Eva Marie Saint, Brian Bedford, Jessica Walter, Toshirô Mifune, Antonio Sabato, Adolfo Celi
Country: USA

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

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 #800: 'The Bad Sleep Well' (1960)

Akira Kurosawa's lambasting of Japan's post-war corporate culture, The Bad Sleep Well, is one of many collaborations with actors Toshiro Mifune and Takashi Shimura and one of several of his film's rooted in the work of William Shakespeare. It's been somewhat unfairly overshadowed by the brilliance of those other films, but given the near-perfection of those movies, many of which regularly make those awful, generic 'top 100 movies' lists created by various magazines and websites, it's hardly surprising. But The Bad Sleep Well is one of Kurosawa's most ingeniously paced, clinically filmed and potently pessimistic movies.

Beginning with one of the most exceptional opening sequences in cinema, a crowd of journalists gather at the wedding reception of Nishi (Mifune) and Yoshiko (Kyoko Kagawa) attended by a host of corporate high-flyers. Yoshiko is the daughter of Corporation Vice President Iwabuchi (Masyuki Mori), whose company is facing scrutiny over suspected bid rigging and corruption. The press have gathered to witness the awkward toasts given by the various sweaty workers, delivered on a podium reminiscent of a witness stand. As the speeches are given, the wedding cake is wheeled in and revealed to be in the form of the corporate office building, with a single red rose protruding from the window in which Assistant Chief Furaya committed suicide from years earlier.

As a couple of higher-ups are arrested, Nishi steps in to reveal his plan of revenge. He has donned the disguise of a eager hopeful looking to marry himself up the corporate ladder, but is actually Furaya's son and has uncovered the trail of greed and corruption that led to his forced suicide. And all roads lead to Iwabuchi. Loosely based on Hamlet, The Bad Sleep Well is less faithful to the source material than Kurosawa's other Shakespeare adaptations. Working for the first time with his own production company, Kurosawa instead took the chance to voice his disgust at Japan's post-war capitalist takeover, where underlings are expected to take their own lives to save their boss's skin and back-hand dealings are less suspected than expected.

The title suggest something noir-ish, a genre Kurosawa is not unfamiliar with. But this has only brief shades of noir, and the title only serves as a warning of the grim pessimism smeared on thick throughout. At over two hours, the film is perhaps too long, becoming muddled at the points in which it should be tight and thrilling. But this is certainly a display of the director's formidable talent. The aforementioned opening wedding section is an expert mixture of comedy, tense drama and mystery, and was almost certainly paid homage to in The Godfather (1972). Mifune too, delivers a powerhouse performance as Nishi, stepping out of the shadows to become the beast he seeks to destroy. The climax may be too overtly bleak for some, but for the most part this is beautifully filmed, riveting stuff.


Directed by: Akira Kurosawa
Starring: Toshirô Mifune, Masayuki Mori, Kyôko Kagawa, Takashi Shimura
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

Review #382: 'The Idiot' (1951)

It's pretty difficult to judge this film fully. The first half is erratic, and filled with jolting edits, characters that appear and disappear without any introduction. It's a damn shame. The scatological nature of this epic project, adapted from the Russian classic by Fyodor Dostoyevsky, was due to it being horrendously cut down by the studio that funded it. Originally, Akira Kurosawa had created a 266 minute cut of the - incredibly faithful to the source novel - was shortened by 100 minutes. Unfortunately, it would seem that the world may never see the original version, as even when Kurosawa hunted for the missing scenes in the vaults several decades later, he was unable to locate them.

As it is in its now 166 minute format (the longest version available), it is still an incredibly important piece of melodrama. After the devastation of the war, Kinji Kameda (Masayuki Mori) and Denkichi Akama (Toshiro Mifune), travel back to a remote island. Kameda claims that he suffers from an illness, cause by the suffering of war, and simply referred to as idiocy - when expressed on film, this idiocy seems simply to be an innocent, and fundamentally naive view of people. He simply only sees good in people, even if this is not the case. On arriving they both seem to fall for a disgraced woman, Taeko Nasu (Setsuko Hara), who was someones concubine since the age of fourteen, and is being offered for marriage at a price.

What ensues is a strange love triangle that divides not only the two male protagonists, but the community. The film is beautifully shot in black and white by Toshio Ubukata, who had worked with Kurosawa on his previous film, Scandal (1950). It is unfortunate that the films first half suffers so evidently due to extensive cutting. However, it is the relationship between Kameda and Akama that provides the climax (which is seemingly more intact) that provides the films central theme, and its most poignant elements.


Directed by: Akira Kurosawa
Starring: Setsuko Hara, Masayuki Mori, Toshirô Mifune, Yoshiko Kuga
Country: Japan

Rating: ****

Marc Ivamy