Recently Viewed: The Legend & Butterfly

[The following review contains MAJOR SPOILERS; YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!]

Near the end of The Legend & Butterfly—a lavish period epic produced to commemorate the seventieth anniversary of Toei—the plot appears to take an unexpected turn into outright historical revisionism reminiscent of Quentin Tarantino’s Inglourious Basterds. Oda Nobunaga—grievously injured, cornered by traitors, trapped in a burning temple—forlornly reflects on the lifetime of cruelty that led to his impending demise. Suddenly, he glimpses a minor miracle: a few flimsy floorboards, easily pried loose to reveal a hidden passage. Defying his preordained fate, he escapes from his enemies, reunites with his wife, and stows away on a ship bound for Europe. After an arduous journey, the warlord gazes upon foreign soil; at long last, he’ll be able to realize his dream of peace, tranquility, and anonymity alongside the woman he loves.

But this idyllic vision abruptly fades, the warm glow of the sunset dissolving into the blazing glare of the flames that still surround him. There was no secret tunnel, no desperate ride back to his fortress, no westward voyage; it was all just a fantasy akin to The Last Temptation of Christ—a false hope conjured by the delusional mind of a vanquished conqueror.

Although this double subversion isn’t entirely without merit—indeed, it’s one of the only legitimately interesting creative choices in an otherwise generic jidaigeki—it’s also emblematic of the film’s overall indecisiveness. The relationship between the title characters, for example, often feels contrived, inorganic, and underdeveloped; because the structure is so disjointed (leaping forward several years at a time at seemingly random intervals), the “gradual” evolution of their marriage from political union to mutually beneficial military partnership to genuinely affectionate romance lacks connective tissue—and, consequently, emotional authenticity. The tone is likewise wildly inconsistent, chaotically careening from slapstick comedy and screwball banter to gory bloodshed and overwrought melodrama with little rhyme or reason; balancing humor and horror is a delicate tightrope act, and director Keishi Otomo frequently stumbles.

The movie’s central theme—its most compelling hook—is, unfortunately, equally muddled. The premise revolves around the thesis that Nobunaga’s bride—who is traditionally relegated to a mere footnote in written accounts of his campaign to unify Japan—was actually a hugely influential figure in his reign, nurturing his violent ambition (à la Lady Macbeth) and sculpting him from a buffoonish, pampered thug into a fierce warrior, charismatic leader, and cunning tactician. It is therefore utterly tragic that she slowly loses any semblance of agency as the narrative unfolds, ultimately spending the last hour of the story ill and bedridden. She was previously depicted as such a strong, independent, uncompromising heroine; she refuses to be silenced and marginalized, blatantly and unapologetically challenging the misogynistic attitudes of the Sengoku Era. It is thus a shame to see her reduced to a passive prop in her husband’s conflict.

I don’t mean to imply that The Legend & Butterfly is irredeemably bad; the production design is absolutely spectacular, and the performances are generally solid. Because its flaws are so fundamental, however, its strengths are greatly diminished. Unlike its iconic subject, it simply doesn’t leave much of an impression.

Recently Viewed: Tange Sazen and the Pot Worth a Million Ryo

[The following review contains MINOR SPOILERS; YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!]

Two swordsmen stare each other down. Wind howls through the empty street. Sweat trickles. Eyes narrow. Limbs tense. Suddenly, steel flashes, and the opponents charge and clash! A suspenseful moment of uncertainty passes. Then, finally, one combatant collapses. The survivor sheathes his blade.

It's a stock scene, instantly familiar to fans of such essential jidaigeki classics as Sanjuro, Harakiri, and Three Outlaw Samurai—but Nikkatsu's Tange Sazen and the Pot Worth a Million Ryo fundamentally alters its emotional impact with the addition of a simple punchline:

“Why’s that guy groaning so much?” the victorious duelist's young companion innocently inquires as he emerges from his hiding spot, spared from having to witness the violent encounter.

The ronin merely shrugs, smirks, and replies, “He gambled and lost.”

Although the chanbara genre wouldn’t attain widespread popularity until the 1960s, its basic visual language had already been thoroughly established before the end of the silent era. Still, it’s a bit surprising to learn that the various tropes, clichés, and storytelling conventions of samurai movies were being subverted, deconstructed, and outright parodied as early as 1935. Adopting a tone that more closely resembles the contemporary comedies produced by Laurel & Hardy and the Marx Brothers than it does the cynical source material (much to the original author’s chagrin), director Sadao Yamanaka reimagines Tange Sazen's eponymous one-armed, one-eyed antihero as a lazy, grumpy teddy bear—an uncouth layabout that pretends to be a taciturn nihilist… but in reality can’t stomach the thought of an unhappy child.

The entire film revolves around such humorous juxtapositions. One minor (albeit narratively significant) supporting character, for example, is a penniless junk peddler that masquerades as a wealthy merchant in order to impress the bewitching proprietress of the local archery parlor. The deuteragonist, meanwhile, is the disgruntled second son of the Yagyu clan, who tirelessly searches for the titular teapot—or, more specifically, for the map secretly hidden therein, which leads to a vast buried treasure. That’s what he tells his nagging wife, anyway; in actuality, he quickly discovers that he enjoys aimlessly wandering the city’s bustling red light district, flirting with pretty geisha, and shirking his responsibilities as a fencing instructor. Consequently, he makes every effort to prolong his quest. “After all, Edo is a huge place,” he repeatedly insists. “[Finding the pot] could take ten or twenty years, like vengeance!”

By playing the pulpy premise for laughs instead of melodrama and adding humanity and dimension to traditionally flat archetypes, Yamanaka crafts a work of pop art that feels wholly unique in an otherwise formulaic cinematic landscape. Elevated by razor-sharp editing (including several expertly implemented Gilligan Cuts—seeing our gruff protagonist reluctantly doing exactly what he literally just refused to do is consistently hilarious) and excellent music, Tange Sazen and the Pot Worth a Million Ryo is a genuine postmodern masterpiece—even in its current incomplete form.

(Seriously, missing footage has rendered the climactic battle borderline incomprehensible. The fact that the rest of the plot is sturdy enough to compensate for such a glaring omission is nothing short of miraculous.)

Here are a few screenshots that I captured during my recent playthrough of Ghost of Tsushima. In addition to its superb story and tight controls, the game features a fantastic Photo Mode!

Currently Playing: Ghost of Tsushima

Synopsis: After Mongol invaders wipe out his entire clan, samurai Jin Sakai is forced to confront the fact that his rigid “code of honor” has become a liability; in order to save his homeland, he will need to adopt his enemies’ brutal and pragmatic tactics. But will the warrior’s newfound ruthlessness cost him his soul?

Pros

Cons

Recently Viewed: Eleven Samurai

Well, I forgot that today was Easter Sunday until it was too late to make any solid plans, so instead of treating myself to a fancy dinner, I decided to finally watch Eleven Samurai—an appropriate choice, considering it’s all about giving up one’s life for a noble cause.

Despite receiving an excellent (albeit belated) localization courtesy of AnimEigo, this jidaigeki classic from director Eiichi Kudo (who also helmed the original 1963 version of the similarly-themed Thirteen Assassins) remains criminally underappreciated in the West, and currently holds an infuriatingly low score of three stars on Kanopy. It contains all of my favorite genre ingredients: a hero that “abandons” his clan and masquerades as a drunken lout and adulterer, sacrificing his honor and social standing in order to lower his enemy's guard; a petulant, psychopathic, and ultimately cowardly villain supported by a corrupt government and protected by a chief retainer that’s loyal to a fault; and a climactic battle in which the participants are hindered by the elements (in this case: lashing rain, billowing fog, and dense foliage).

Amid these familiar elements, however, are flashes of originality. The eponymous ragtag crew, for example, counts among its members: a timid accountant (who’s mostly just there to manage their funds, but still wields a blade when the chips are down), a bitter and vengeful anarchist (who specializes in the construction of durable bamboo cannons that sadly don’t see much action), and a badass warrior woman (who announces her presence by apologizing for her recently-deceased brother’s absence and pledging to fight in his stead). Kudo’s depiction of violence is absolutely sublime, unrelentingly realistic in its brutality; there’s no graceful choreography here—just frightened men clumsily flailing around in the mud, hacking away at each other with swords, kitchen knives, and broken branches. Most importantly, the conflict is not driven solely by bloodshed; equal screen time is allotted to the behind-the-scenes maneuvering and manipulation, with one particularly devious double-cross nearly thwarting our protagonists’ assassination plot at its most critical juncture.

The film even offers a small glimmer of hope to offset its typically bleak conclusion: although the majority of the characters perish and the few survivors are traumatized to the point of insanity, their efforts do inspire reform, ensuring that the legacy of their secret rebellion endures. So while it may lack pastel-colored eggs and fuzzy woodland critters, I maintain that Eleven Samurai perfectly encapsulates the spirit of the holiday.

Currently Binging - Zatoichi: The Television Series

I have a bad habit of not actually watching the DVDs and Blu-rays that I buy. Case in point: I purchased the first season of the Zatoichi television series at a comic book convention years ago (courtesy of Media Blasters, distributors of only the most extreme and obscure content), and I’m just now getting around to popping it in. Because I’m so starved for fresh adventures in the Blind Swordsman saga (having seen all of the feature films, including bootlegs and spinoffs) that I can’t afford to ignore it anymore.

In terms of content, tone, and production value, the show isn’t drastically different from the movies that inspired it. In each episode, our hero wanders into a new town or village, gets swept up in the local drama, befriends an orphan or two, charms all the ladies, swindles greedy gamblers, and effortlessly vanquishes any foe foolish enough to cross swords with him. It’s definitely formulaic, but hey, the formula works, and there are enough subtle variations to keep things from getting too stale.

As always, leading man/producer (and occasional director) Shintaro Katsu plays a huge role in keeping the action grounded; whether he’s mirthfully chuckling at his own expense or noisily slurping noodles mid-battle, his performance humanizes his superhuman character, while his graceful choreography lends the stylized fight scenes a sense of weight and authenticity. Sure, there are a few recycled plot points. So what? It’s the cinematic equivalent of comfort food, and that familiar flavor never fails to satisfy. I look forward to enjoying several more helpings, and I’ll be sad when the meal finally, inevitably ends.

Recently Viewed: Blade of the Immortal

How bad has my addiction to Japanese cinema gotten, you ask? Tonight, I ventured all the way out to Yonkers to catch an 11:00 p.m. screening of Takashi Miike's Blade of the Immortal at the Alamo Drafthouse. Was it worth the expense of the journey, the distracting mid-movie meal service, and the discomfort of the 25-degree weather?

Of course it was! Blade of the Immortal contains absolutely everything I adore about classic chanbara, plus a little more gore and a lot more body horror—in other words, exactly what you'd expect from the twisted mind behind Ichi the Killer and Audition. Our hero, Manji, is the quintessential jidai-geki leading man: ruggedly masculine (all the better to set him apart from the comparatively effeminate villains), frequently plastered, and carrying more exotic weaponry up his sleeves than Ogami Itto could fit in his son's baby cart. 

And, like many of his ilk (including Sanjuro, Zatoichi, and Max Rockatansky), he's not actually the protagonist; rather, this cynical warrior, cursed with literal immortality and embittered by devastating personal losses, reluctantly becomes a supporting character in the story of Rin, the Mattie Ross to his Rooster Cogburn. As he accompanies the girl on a quest to wreak bloody vengeance upon the deranged swordsmen that murdered her father, her dogged determination, youthful innocence, and deeply-buried vulnerability gradually thaw his hardened heart and reawaken his desire to live—that is, to enjoy life, and not just survive dismemberment.

A few of my fellow audience members didn’t seem to appreciate the film’s campier elements, but I loved that it so thoroughly embraced the absurdity of its comic book origins, from the gravity-defying hairstyles to the lengthy mid-battle monologues (which test even Manji’s patience). Blade of the Immortal might not feel as weighty, prestigious, or thematically ambitious as Miike’s remake of 13 Assassins, but it’s certainly every bit as audacious, spectacular, and—most importantly—fun. I’m glad that the director is doing his part to keep samurai fiction on the silver screen, where it belongs; here’s to a hundred more!

Recently Viewed: Duel to the Death

I’m a huge fan of martial arts movies that feature both Chinese and Japanese combatants: Zatoichi Meets the One-Armed Swordsman, Master of the Flying Guillotine, Sword of the Stranger, and especially Lau Kar-leung’s Heroes of the East. So when I stumbled upon an article about a kung fu film called Duel to the Death, which revolves around—surprise, surprise—a duel between the best swordsman from each country, I immediately knew I had to own it. Fortunately, some random vendor on Amazon had a brand new copy of the out-of-print DVD on offer.

From the opening melee between a band of shinobi thieves and a small army of Shaolin monks to the absurdly brutal climactic clash, Duel to the Death is a delightfully, unabashedly old-school wuxia flick, replete with ludicrous ninja magic, gravity-defying acrobatics, and less-than-convincing disguises (you’d be forgiven for failing to realize that the leading lady is supposed to be masquerading as a young boy). Beneath these cheesier, surface-level pleasures, however, lies a genuinely compelling examination of the self-destructive nature of blind patriotism. The refreshingly sympathetic depiction of the Japanese antagonist is particularly striking. Like many of the most iconic characters in samurai cinema, he finds himself torn between his loyalty to a corrupt master and his own personal code of honor. Under a different set of circumstances, he might have been the hero of the story. Sadly, despite his clear disdain for his conniving, duplicitous “allies”, he refuses to relinquish his sense of national pride, propelling the narrative towards its tragic, blood-soaked conclusion.

This element of moral complexity elevates Duel to the Death. Like Heroes of the East and Zatoichi Meets the One-Armed Swordsman, it argues that we will only achieve true peace when we set aside our differences and strive to better understand one another—a message that, in my opinion, always remains relevant.

Recently Viewed - Samurai Jack: “CI”

Samurai Jack was already a masterpiece. But now, at long last, Genndy Tartakovsky has given the saga a definitive conclusion. The final episode is the perfect microcosm of everything that made the series great: it’s mature (without taking itself too seriously), funny (without diminishing the narrative stakes), visually stunning, and, yes, even a bit emotional.

[SPOILERS BELOW THE BREAK.]

Recently Viewed: G.I. Samurai

Watched another DVD I salvaged from the bottom of a bargain bin years ago and promptly forgot about: G.I. Samurai, a zany late ‘70s action flick that pits the mortars, missiles, and heavy machine guns of Japan’s modern military against the sheer ambition and tactical cunning of the power-hungry feudal lords of the Sengoku period. 

Sonny Chiba (best known in the West as Hattori Hanzo in Kill Bill) plays Lieutenant Iba, the de facto leader of a ragtag group of soldiers who find themselves inexplicably stranded in the distant past, caught between warring factions and plagued by internal strife. As old rivalries escalate into full-blown mutiny, Iba gradually succumbs to the lust for blood and glory—if he can’t return to his own time, he’s certainly not going to pass up the opportunity to live life on his own terms. 

While Chiba delivers an undeniably nuanced performance, he was a stunt coordinator first and foremost, and the movie shines brightest whenever he’s loosing arrows from horseback, firing a submachine gun while suspended beneath a helicopter, or charging into battle with a pistol in one hand and a katana in the other. Despite the valiant efforts of these spectacular set pieces, however, the narrative drags on a bit too long; the version I own allegedly restores approximately forty minutes of previously-excised footage... about half of which feels entirely unnecessary. Still, even after a whopping 140 minutes, the unforgettable image of armor-clad daimyo riding into combat alongside a tank never loses its novelty.

Recently Viewed - Samurai Jack: “XCVIII”

Jack’s journey continues as he and Ashi set out to locate his enchanted sword. He soon realizes that this will be no simple task: when he tainted the blade with the blood of innocent creatures and began to doubt his worthiness, the gods reclaimed what they had forged. As our hero meditates, venturing into a vibrant realm of spirits and deities, his newfound companion defends his physical form from a literal army of assassins. Although the extreme tones of the two conflicts are humorously juxtaposed—Jack’s is quiet and contemplative, while Ashi’s is brutal and chaotic—they also share a key thematic similarity that elevates the episode: both protagonists must confront and conquer the personification of their respective inner darkness. 

That this justifies yet another gorgeously choreographed fight scene—a Tartakovsky trademark—is merely the icing on an already rich cake.

Recently Viewed - Sleepy Eyes of Death 9: A Trail of Traps

Decided to continue my Nemuri Kyoshiro binge by revisiting Sleepy Eyes of Death 9: A Trail of Traps. I first watched this installment years ago; despite its near universal acclaim amongst samurai cinema enthusiasts, my own response was rather… lukewarm (hence why it’s taken me so long to get around to the rest of the series), though I’d be hard pressed to recall exactly why before tonight.

If nothing else, I’ve refreshed my memory of what underwhelmed me. The setup is simple: Kyoshiro must prevent a cult of devil-worshipping Christians from stealing a valuable statuette of the Virgin Mary as it is transported from Edo to Tokyo. Once the road trip begins in earnest, the plot settles into an episodic formula: our hero wanders into an obvious ambush, craftily manipulates the situation to his advantage, and continues on his merry way, leaving a pile of corpses in his wake. It’s straightforward and a bit repetitive, but perfectly serviceable as far a chanbara scenarios go; heck, Lone Wolf and Cub did this sort of thing all the time.

And then, without warning, Kyoshiro stumbles upon a completely unrelated melodrama involving a damsel in distress, a lovestruck pimp, a yakuza gambling house, and a set of probability-defying loaded dice. It’s a narrative non-sequitur packed with enough richly detailed character conflict to fill its own movie, and it stands out like a sore thumb. Additionally, the climax is far too busy, bombarding the viewer with three or four shocking revelations when maybe one or two would have sufficed. These flaws don’t cripple Trail of Traps, but they are an undeniable blemish on an otherwise enjoyable action flick.

Recently Viewed - Sleepy Eyes of Death 4: Sword of Seduction

Woke up feeling a little under the weather, so I decided to stay in and take it easy. Fortunately, I brought plenty of DVDs back from Florida to keep me company—including Sleepy Eyes of Death 4: Sword of Seduction.

I’d read that the series started to find its own unique voice with this installment, breaking away from the standard chanbara formulas and finally exploring Nemuri Kyoshiro’s tragic origins (they don’t call him the Son of the Black Mass for nothing). It certainly delivers a far more lurid and interesting plot than the cynical samurai’s cinematic debut: opium smugglers, fugitive Christians, fallen priests, deformed noblewomen, and a long-lost relative are only the beginning of our hero’s troubles. Of course, the real draw for me was the triumphant return of Tomisaburo Wakayama’s Chen Sun, now sporting a ridiculous hairdo and wielding a quarterstaff (the actor’s real-life weapon of choice). Once again, the proud monk shirks his duties as a bodyguard in order to seek an honorable duel with his eternal rival/BFF, and once again, their climactic clash is an absolute showstopper, though this time its overly abrupt conclusion leaves something to be desired. Still, Sword of Seduction is a fun and stylish jidaigeki classic—thanks in no small part to the direction of Kazuo Ikehiro, who also helmed a few of my favorite Zatoichi films.