This film charts the final stages of Miyamoto Musashi’s development; he is no longer obsessed with fame and instead has become the ultimate samurai, one who is more than simply strong and craves only to be the best he can at his chosen art. Developing his persona further, Musashi now prefers to settle matters peacefully, avoiding unnecessary violence on a few occasions throughout the film, most notably when he placates some angry thugs by swiftly plucking flies from the air with a pair of chop-sticks, intimidating them with his speed and accuracy. Musashi is contrasted to Kojiro, who is very ambitious, and seeks to make his reputation in the bloodiest way possible. The progression of Musashi’s character over the trilogy sets each film clearly apart, and avoids the repetition of themes present in other film series.
With Duel on Ganryu Island, Hiroshi Inagaki again takes the opportunity to utilise some grand scenery, giving specific scenes an epic backdrop. The opening scene of Kojiro standing in front of a waterfall, a rainbow clearly visible in the mist, is a spectacular image. When we have finished admiring it, Inagaki quickly presents us with the sinister juxtaposition of Kojiro’s cruelty (to Akemi and an unfortunate swallow). Similarly, the tense and protracted duel between Musashi and Kojiro takes place on a beach at sunrise, and has as its backdrop a striking image of the sun over the water; even in its more brutal moments, Inagaki’s film has a certain elegance and beauty.
The performances achieve the typically high standard of the entire Samurai Trilogy. Koji Tsuruta is especially good as Kojiro, given many more opportunities to shine here than in the second film, where he appeared in only a few scenes. Tsuruta skilfully captures the sinister edge to Kojiro’s character, giving a convincing impression of a man who craves the recognition that defeating Musashi would bring.
The film’s climactic moment, the duel between Musashi and Kojiro, is handled particularly well. Mifune and Tsuruta both bring a level of intensity to this scene, which along with Inagaki’s direction creates a tense atmosphere. Inagaki cuts between shots of Musashi and then Kojiro, showing the determination on each man’s face. When the two actually clash, this is shown through quick cuts accompanied by the sound of the weapons meeting. Words do not do this sequence justice. It is one of the greatest duels in any samurai film, a befitting reconstruction of one of the most famous duels in Japanese history.
THE VERDICT
Samurai 3: Duel on Ganryu Island is a highly satisfying conclusion to the Samurai Trilogy. In the fulfilment of Musashi’s learning journey, we glean a lot about the ideals of the samurai. Inagaki’s epic direction makes the entire trilogy essential viewing for any fan of samurai films.
Throne of Blood (1957)
Japanese Title: Kumonosu jo
Directed by: Akira Kurosawa
Written by: Adapted by Shinobu Hashimoto, Ryuzo Kikushima, Hideo Oguni and Akira Kurosawa from William Shakespeare’s Macbeth
Produced by: Sojiro Motoki, Akira Kurosawa
Edited by: Akira Kurosawa
Cinematography: Asakazu Nakai
Cast: Toshiro Mifune (Washizu), Isuzu Yamada (Asaji), Takashi Nomura (Noriyasu), Akira Kubo (Miki), Yoichi Tachikawa (Tsuzuki), Minoru Chiaki (Yoshiaki), Takamaru Sasaki (Kuniharo), Chieko Naniwa (spirit)
PLOT SUMMARY
A daimyo’s two finest samurai, Washizu and Miki, meet a spirit, which predicts they will both receive promotions and that Washizu will eventually become the new daimyo of the castle, succeeded by Miki’s son. To their amazement, the first prediction becomes true and both Washizu and Miki are promoted to higher positions, each put in charge of an important fort. When Washizu’s wife, Asaji, hears of the prediction, she urges him to fulfil the prophecy by murdering the daimyo. Although reluctant at first, Washizu performs the murder, and is nearly driven mad by guilt. Washizu and Asaji frame another samurai, Noriyasu, for the murder, who flees with the young prince. Washizu appoints Miki’s son as his successor, securing his support, but changes his mind when Asaji tells him she is pregnant. Washizu orders some of his men to kill Miki and his son, and although Miki is slain, his son escapes. As Washizu is gradually driven mad by his deeds, his enemies begin to move against him. Noriyasu, the prince and Miki’s son have allied themselves to Inui, a rival daimyo, and are marching on the castle. Worried, Washizu visits the spirit again, who assures him that he will not be defeated unless Spider Web Wood, the thick forest surrounding the castle, marches on him. Washizu is buoyed by confidence, and tells his men of the prophecy. When they see the moving forest, which Noriyasu and his men have cut down and are using as camouflage, they kill Washizu, hoping to surrender him to his enemies.
ANALYSIS
Throne of Blood is an excellent adaptation of Shakespeare’s Macbeth, which benefits from superb direction by Akira Kurosawa. Shakespeare’s dark tale proves to be a perfect match for Kurosawa’s atmospheric storytelling. Kurosawa and his staff of writers make quite a few changes to Shakespeare’s tale, but the same basic story of a man undone by his own ambition is present in the film, and the many inspired scenes in Throne of Blood, particularly those at the end, would never have been filmed if Kurosawa had stuck strictly to the original story.
The most outstanding aspect of Throne of Blood is Kurosawa’s use of cinematic techniques to create atmosphere. The film opens with a view of a fog-shrouded plain. We hear the slow deliberate lyrics of a Japanese song, lamenting man’s inability to escape ambition and violence. Through the fog, a memorial comes into view, revealing that a castle once stood here. The memorial is engulfed in thick fog, which slowly clears to reveal the castle, back in the time when it still stood. This has to be one of the greatest beginnings to a samurai film, or, for that matter,
any film. Kurosawa captures the themes of Shakespeare’s play in a few evocative images, and catapults us into his film; we already know the castle is doomed to be destroyed, a fate which, we later discover, will be shared by the film’s tragic central character.
Spider Web Castle. Throne of Blood directed by Akira Kurosawa and produced by Sojiro Motoki and Akira Kurosawa for Toho Studios.
Kurosawa continues this highly evocative use of images and sound throughout his film. The scene in which Washizu and Miki meet the spirit is particularly creepy; the spirit sits, completely pale, and doesn’t move, except to continually weave silk on a Japanese spinning wheel. The interior of the spirit’s hovel is also completely white, and the whole scene is bathed in a white light which gives it a stark appearance, like the billowing fog or the bleached bones we see a moment later. Similarly, the sounds of Washizu’s wife, Asaji, as she moves are sinister, the impression intensified when it becomes clear just how ruthless she is. The way her kimono makes a quiet shuffling sound as she moves across the bare boards of her home grows increasingly chilling throughout the early moments of the film. When Asaji fetches some poisoned sake, we see her disappear into a darkened room, vanishing into the darkness. The sounds of her kimono dragging on the floor grow quieter and then slowly louder as she returns, sake pot in hand, walking straight towards the camera.
Washizu (Toshiro Mifune) under attack. Throne of Blood directed by Akira Kurosawa and produced by Sojiro Motoki and Akira Kurosawa for Toho Studios.
Kurosawa’s evocative direction is coupled with one of Toshiro Mifune’s most memorable performances. In his leading role as Washizu, Mifune presents a picture of a man slowly going mad; from his stunned, statue-like appearance after he has killed his lord, through his manic confidence, to his despair at the film’s end, Mifune’s performance is an unnerving portrayal of a man who loses everything to ambition. Isuzu Yamada is also unnervingly convincing in her role as Asaji. She is cold and inexpressive in many of her scenes, as she encourages her husband to murder first his lord, and then his closest friend. Ultimately, she too succumbs to the horror of what she and her husband have done, and Yamada portrays this well, in the classic Macbeth hand-washing scene.
Throne of Blood gains most of its dramatic mileage from atmospheric storytelling, rather than frenetic action, but
this film contains one of the most distinct and memorable action scenes of any samurai film. The scene in which Washizu’s men turn on him, attempting to kill him with vast numbers of arrows, is particularly striking. Washizu frantically runs from one side of a balcony to the other, arrows thudding into the wood around him. His death scene, although bloodless, has to be one of the most shocking seen in any samurai film.
THE VERDICT
Throne of Blood is a classic fusion of an archetypical story with highly skilled direction and performances. One of Kurosawa’s finest films, and an example of the samurai film at its best.
The Hidden Fortress (1958)
Japanese Title: Kakushi-toride no san-akunin
Directed by: Akira Kurosawa
Written by: Adapted by Shinobu Hashimoto, Ryuzo Kikushima, Hideo Oguni and Akira Kurosawa from the novel by Shugoro Yamamoto
Produced by: Akira Kurosawa, Masumi Fujimoto
Edited by: Akira Kurosawa
Cinematography: Ichio Yamazeki
Cast: Toshiro Mifune (General Rokurota Makabe), Misa Uehara (Princess Yuki of the Akizuki clan), Minoru Chiaki (Tahei), Kamatari Fujiwara (Matashichi), Takashi Shimura (Izumi Nagakura), Susumu Fujita (General Hyoe Tadakoro), Toshiko Higuchi (girl bought from brothel owner)
PLOT SUMMARY
Two peasant prisoners of war, Matashichi and Tahei, escape the Yamana clan and discover the hidden fortune of the defeated Akizuki clan. The two peasants are found by General Rokurota, who, along with Princess Yuki and the gold, is staying in the Akizuki hidden fortress, a building carefully concealed in the mountains. Princess Yuki and the gold are both wanted badly by the Yamana, and Rokurota needs to get them safely to the friendly Hayakawa clan. Hearing Matashichi and Tahei’s bold plan to actually travel through Yamana territory to get to Hayakawa, Rokurota decides to go with them. He ensures the peasants’ help by promising them a share of the gold. The high-spirited Princess Yuki pretends to be a mute peasant girl, as the unusual group sets out on their journey, carrying a cargo of gold, hidden in pieces of firewood. Narrowly avoiding capture many times, Rokurota and Yuki are eventually caught by their enemies. They escape execution with the help of Hyoe Tadakoro, a Yamana general who is impressed by Yuki’s spirit and leadership. Safely in Hayakawa territory, Yuki rewards the peasants with a small trinket. Grateful to have escaped with their lives, the two friends head home.
ANALYSIS
By far the most commercial of Akira Kurosawa’s films, The Hidden Fortress is nonetheless an exciting adventure, featuring impressive and well-realised scenes, on a much larger scale than any of his previous films.
Kurosawa makes good use of the widescreen format (this is his first widescreen film) and a large budget to tell an epic story. Legions of extras are utilised to create convincing armies on the march, army encampments and a huge peasant procession. Among these scenes is a frenetic sequence depicting a riot, as prisoners of war attempt to escape. Kurosawa fills a darkened screen with writhing bodies as the prisoners swarm over their guards, suggesting the horror and confusion of violence on a large scale.
The scenes in which Princess Yuki and General Rokurota are pursued by large numbers of enemy troops are also worthy of mention, helped along by sombre music as the Yamana troops march through the forest. The action scenes throughout The Hidden Fortress are also of a high quality, particularly the spear fight between Rokurota and Hyoe. The two battle all over a Yamana camp in a fast-paced and exciting scene.
The cast of this film all perform admirably. The beautiful Misa Uehara brings a nice level of haughtiness to the high-spirited Princess Yuki, while Toshiro Mifune is flawless as the stern Rokurota, giving a slight promise of his future, influential performance in Yojimbo. Susumu Fujita and Toshiko Higuchi also perform very well in their respective roles.
Interestingly, despite the large numbers of extras used for lavish staging, the most influential element of The Hidden Fortress is the way much of the story is told from the perspective of the two peasants, Matashichi and Tahei. The constant bickering between these two characters is always amusing, particularly in the way they always seem to forget all their petty arguments the moment trouble looms. Minoru Chiaki and Kamatari Fujiwara are to be commended for the energy they bring to their roles; despite their obvious greed the peasants come across as likeable characters. Much of the humour in the film comes from the way these two interact with both each other and the remaining characters. The scene in which Matashichi and Tahei attempt to convince Princess Yuki, who they believe is deaf and mute, that they want to take her gold-laden horse for a drink, is particularly amusing as the two engage in increasingly stupid sign language, all the while bickering over who is doing a better job.
However, the two peasant characters do not only provide comic relief. They also allow the audience a way into the film. The Hidden Fortress tells a story of royalty and generals, of big events involving important people. While exciting, such stories are often difficult for audiences to relate to, as they have little in common with the central characters. In Matashichi and Tahei, writers Shinobu Hashimoto and Ryuzo Kikushima give the audience two regular guys, just trying to get along in life, something most of us can easily relate to.
It was this element of The Hidden Fortress that had a large influence on world cinema. George Lucas has stated that the film was one of his main inspirations when writing the script for Star Wars: A New Hope. In particular, the characters of Matashichi and Tahei inspired him to tell his story largely from the perspective of two seemingly unimportant characters caught up in big events, the two droids, R2-D2 and C3P0. The characters of Leia and Obi Wan Kenobi also bear a slight resemblance to Yuki and Rokurota. Lucas has stated that earlier versions of the script of Star Wars: A New Hope actually contained scenes in which Leia and Obi Wan were making their way through enemy territory, as Yuki and Rokurota do in The Hidden Fortress.
THE VERDICT
The Hidden Fortress is a very enjoyable adventure film, utilising widescreen photography and large, well-staged scenes to tell an epic story. Worth seeing alone for the amusing characterisation of Matashichi and Tahei.
Samurai Saga (1959)
Japanese Title: Aru kengo no shogai
Directed by: Hiroshi Inagaki
Written by: Adapted by Hiroshi Inagaki from Edmond Rostand’s, Cyrano de Bergerac
Produced by: Tomoyuki Tanaka
Edited by: Kazuji Taira
Cinematography: Kazuo Yamada
Cast: Toshiro Mifune (Heihachiro Komaki), Yoko Tsukasa (Lady Ochii), Akira Takarada (Jurota Karibe), Seizaburo Kawazu (Lord Nagashima), Kamatari Fujiwara (Rakuzo, owner of the sake house), Akihiko Hirata (Akaboshi), Keiko Awaji (Nanae), Eiko Miyoshi (Okuni)
PLOT SUMMARY
Komaki, a boisterous warrior with a large nose, is in love with Lady Ochii, his childhood friend, but she loves a handsome young samurai named Jurota. Putting aside his own wishes, Komaki helps Jurota woo Ochii by writing him romantic poems to recite. This works for a while, and culminates in Komaki making an impassioned speech to Ochii, declaring his love for her, from the cover of darkness outside her window. Ochii believes Jurota to have made this speech and embraces him, but before their relationship can develop any further war breaks out. At the Battle of Sekigahara Komaki and Jurota fight on the losing side and they narrowly escape the battlefield. Realising Komaki’s words are what Ochii really loves, Jurota urges him to make it back to her safely, committing suicide so as not to slow him down. Ten years pass and Ochii has become a nun. Komaki continues to visit her, but he is found by the Tokugawa, who still hunt him. Tricked into a cowardly ambush, Komaki receives a fatal blow to his head. He manages to visit Ochii one last time as he dies, and as she hears him read to her, she realises it was Komaki who made that speech at her window. Komaki faces death bravely, regretful that he was killed in such a dishonourable fashion, but determined not to lose his indomitable spirit.
ANALYSIS
An adaptation of Edmond Rostand’s play Cyrano de Berger
ac, Samurai Saga makes use of some interesting subject matter. The material works very well in the context of a samurai film, and director Hiroshi Inagaki should be commended for utilising such unusual material.
Inagaki is able to capture both the pathos and humour present in Rostand’s play. Toshiro Mifune’s energetic performance as Komaki adds humour to the scenes where he and others make fun of his unusually large nose. Worthy of mention is a scene early in the film when Komaki disrupts a kabuki performance. Angered, Lord Nagashima’s samurai attempt to insult Komaki, but he beats them to it, making fun of his own nose in an exaggerated performance, which is very amusing. Komaki then goes on to defeat Nagashima’s men on the stage, composing a song as he does so. Inagaki and his actors are able to bring just the right amount of pathos to the more dramatic scenes of Samurai Saga, without descending into melodrama. The final scenes of the film are handled very well by Toshiro Mifune and Yoko Tsukasa, whose convincing performances make Kamaki and Ochii’s fate all the more tragic.
The cinematography in Samurai Saga is up to the usual high standards of Inagaki’s films, containing many memorable images. Inagaki and Mifune handle Komaki’s death scene especially well; he challenges death among the falling petals of a cherry tree, creating a beautiful image, evocatively capturing the sadness and inevitability of the act.
Samurai Films Page 4