#59. Throne of Blood & #60. Yojimbo & #61. Sanjuro - Review / Analysis

Yojimbo Sanjuro banner

Akira Kurosawa’s 1961 film Yojimbo was the precursor to the great Italian westerns made famous by Sergio Leone in the 1960’s. Himself inspired by the American director John Ford, Kurosawa transformed a single village from feudal Japan into a dusty war zone. Similar to many of his earlier works, Kurosawa succeeds with Yojimbo by creating complex, sympathetic characters and setting them in locations full of rich, palpable atmosphere. Be it a confused tale of mixed-up agendas and memories like in Rashomon, a re-imagining of Shakespeare’s Macbeth again set in feudal Japan like Throne of Blood, or an American western told with samurai swords instead of pistols like Yojimbo; Kurosawa was a master of ambience and tenor.

Yojimbo stars Kurosawa regular Toshiro Mifune as the “man with no name,” a master-less samurai (ronin) who one day wanders into a small village in the middle of a bloody civil war. Mifune uses his wits and his superior sword fighting skills to manipulate both of the town’s gang lords currently at war with each other. By playing both sides, double dealing, double crossing, and never hesitating to use his lethal blade, Mifune cleans up the streets by being both an amoral conman and a loyal samurai.

Toshiro Mifune in Throne of Blood

Although not as haunting as Throne of Blood or as humorous as Yojimbo’s quasi-sequel Sonjuro, this film is a perfect example of Kurosawa’s ability to create a completely believable environment. The director is capable of pure occidentalism, borrowing themes and motifs from American western pictures and then believably engaging these western techniques in his oriental setting. In Rachel Hutchinson’s essay Orientalism or Occidentalism? Dynamics of Appropriation in Akira Kurosawa the author explains that Japanese cinema is, “… set up as confined, limited and in need of techniques and ideas from the West, achieving success when it assimilates or incorporates Western Cinema.” (174) Yojimbo is a classic American genre film, but at the same time Kurosawa is able to assimilate, embracing its “japaneseness.”

Yojimbo film posterWhile Throne of Blood was an adaptation of Shakespeare’s classic play, many of his other films deal with the samurai, and his code of honor called bushido. Kurosawa seems fascinated by Japan’s ancient warrior, and never hesitates to put him and his ethical code to the test. In Rashomon the only truth the audience knows for sure is that a samurai has died. Between the disheveled remembrances of all concerned, it is just as easy to accept the samurai’s version of the story as the bandit’s or the wife. In Yojimbo, Mifune’s samurai is a ronin, left master-less assumedly during the Tokugawa Shogun’s era of peace. Although a time is never given in the film, I would speculate that Kurosawa might be making a comment about the samurai’s transition from noble warrior to bureaucratic paper pusher during the Meiji restoration of the 19th century. During the years leading up to the end of the Shogun’s reign and Emperor Mutsuhito’s goal of unifying Japan, the samurai class and way of life was slowly becoming extinct. During the feudal era of Japan a samurai served only his lord, dedicating his life to his master. The ronin in Yojimbo has no lord, and instead takes advantage of the two bosses’ own belief that the samurai would serve whomever he chose wholeheartedly. Like the warriors of the Meiji restoration, men were expected to honor not their lord, but their boss. In the heavily bureaucratic restructuring of Japan’s government during the last half of the 19^th century, the samurai/master relationship evolved into a subordinate/superior relationship. Where there once was love and honor between two men was now just a respect, easily transferred to the next man brought in to replace the last boss. Even though the ronin in Yojimbo does commit honorable actions throughout the film, I would argue he purposefully manipulates everyone involved by his actions and their own assumptions of the bushido code.

Be it a commentary on the lost way of the samurai, or just another example of Kurosawa’s “appropriation of the western genre in the 1960s,” (176) Yojimbo is an incredible film. Its village and characters serve the story and the ronin, while Kurosawa’s ability at producing the perfect ambience for his films is no different in this samurai-western. Perhaps not as accessible as Leone’s own A Fistful of Dollars, Toshiro Mifune as the wondering warrior with no name is far more enjoyable than Eastwood’s cigar chomping cowboy.

#57. A Better Tomorrow & #58. The Killer - Review

The Killer film posterA Better Tomorrow is melodrama in its purest, most violent exemplification. Far from being a great film, John Woo’s tale of two brothers on opposite sides of the law reeks of the 1980’s, but that is probably why I loved it so much. It has heart like very few action movies have the nerve to show. Underneath all the blood and slow-motion shootouts, is a love story between two best friends (Chow Yun-Fat and Lung Ti) willing to kill and die for each other, and it is their plot line that is most intriguing. These men are so completely devoted to each other, have such affection for one another, that although not homosexual, these vicious gangsters are very much in love.

A brother’s love does not come so easy it seems. With family comes history and baggage. Unlike friends, brothers do not have the privilege of choice. A blood tie cannot be undone, no matter how much hate and judgment poisons the relationship. Themes of responsibility to family and friend alike run on the surface of this film, and are successful at making its point.

Woo’s 1989 film The Killer again puts Chow Yun-Fat in the shoes of Ah Jong, a charismatic and sincere murderer. Covering many of the same beats as Tomorrow, The Killer abandons the familiar family scenario and just focuses on the friendship between an assassin and the detective ordered to bring him down. What I find so fascinating about both of Woo’s films is the director’s ability to successfully construct his brutal protagonists in such a way as to inspire empathy in the audience. In The Killer, we watch Jong blind a woman, put a bullet in the forehead of a politician with a sniper rifle, and callously murder countless henchmen on both sides of the law, and still we not only care for him but actually root for him. “Woo also picks up on recent Hollywood films which feature male protagonists who are both violent and sensitive, who perform their own contradictions, and who struggle with themselves as much as with evil.” (Hanke, 39) After blinding the lounge singer with the muzzle of his revolver, Jong seeks the young girl out and promises to pay for a surgery to repair her eyesight; a selfless act inspired by the killer’s own conscience. This conscience it seems is a universal trait in all of the protagonists in Woo’s Hong Kong films that I have seen. Chow Yun-Fat’s sensitivity, loyalty, and devotion is beautifully contrasted by Woo’s excessive violence. The bullets fly, blood splatters, and bodies fall, but Woo sets-up each highly choreographed shootout with a scene of intense drama, usually between two friends trying to remain faithful to each other, so when the guns go off the viewer is completely invested in the protagonist’s survival and intentions.

A Better Tomorrow film posterIt is this steadfast devotion between friends that may easily be construed as homosexual or even erotic. Masculinity and calm-bravery are motifs in all of Woo’s films. When they are combined with the camaraderie usually only found on a battlefield or a gangster film, the audience can easily misinterpret the emotions on screen. While male relationships in western cinema rarely take the time to investigate the emotions behind the couplings on screen, Woo’s protagonists are distinctly different. Passionate and sentimental, Woo’s leading men wear their heart on their sleeves. Jillian Sandell goes discusses this difference in masculinity in her essay The Specatacle of Male Intimacy in the Films of John Woo: “Woo’s films, by contrast, suggest a cultural fantasy about gender and sexuality in which intimacy is valorized and celebrated as an important and necessary aspect to all relationships – both sexual and platonic.” (24)

Although I am ignorant to Woo’s American made films, I would doubtful of their allegorical and emotionally masculine hybridism between the two cultures within the films. While women only served to advance the plot in both A Better Tomorrow and The Killer, most American action blockbusters require an equally fleshed out female protagonist. This leading lady would most certainly distract and take away from the protagonist’s growing relationship with his comrades on screen. I understand the differences in the two cultures, but I must admit I do find this lack of vulnerability in American heroes disappointing. I am excited to study more John Woo’s earlier Hong Kong films, his unique style of contrasting conflicted characters and their emotionally complicated relationships with intense and over-the-top action sequences is fascinating. 

#55. Close-Up & #56. ABC Africa - Review

Close-Up film Abbas Kiarostami’s ABC Africa is the Iranian director’s documentary chronicling the thousands of children left parentless by the AIDS virus in Uganda. Just as he opens the film with an obvious reenactment of receiving a fax from the United Nations, Kiarostami gives little attempt at injecting ABC Africa with any reality or sincerity. What he does create is a self-reflex bore, proving once again that Kiarostami is far more interested in himself and his own urges than the tragic African children he lazily documents in this film.

ABC Africa posterSimilar to his 1990 film Close-Up, ABC Africa only perpetuates my opinion that the director is completely egomaniacal, willing to take advantage of the weak and the desperate to fulfill whatever odd meta-reality he is interested in creating. The film Close-Up deals with the real life fraud committed by Hossain Sabzian. A man so desperate for not only success, but also simple appreciation and admiration, he was willing to pretend to be the famous director Mohsen Makhmalbaf and take advantage of the Ahankhah family. The sons were college graduates but unable to secure gainful employment and were more than willing to delude themselves into believing Sabzian was the real Makhmalbaf, and that he would make them famous and wealthy. Sadly this story is true, and in my opinion rather heartbreaking. Kiarostami hears of this crime and decides to make a movie about the tragic events, having the actual victims and the conman play themselves. How was Kiarostami’s con any different than Sabzian’s? Just like the poor fraud, Kiarostami unfairly takes advantage of all involved. Still just as desperate for notoriety and what could only be a considered a sick type of fame, Kiarostami successfully transforms everyone into a victim. He manipulates the weak and derives a pleasure and fascination from it that I do not share.Close-Up film

During his 10-day trip in Kampala, Uganda Kiarostami and a second man filmed what had to have been dozens of hours of footage. Hundreds of beautiful children consistently run up and greet the filmmakers throughout their trip. Covered in filth and what we would consider rags for clothes, these kids are as interested in the director and his camera as he is supposed to be in them and their plight. Unfortunately, Kiarostami is not willing to dedicate much screen time to the reasons behind the orphans’ misfortunes. Instead ABC Africa is yet another opportunity for Kiarostami to use his stature as a film director to film the desperate. More enamored by the spirit of the parentless boys and girls than the horrible AIDS epidemic that swept their mothers and fathers away, far too much time is wasted documenting their smiles. There are more scenes of African villagers listening to music and dancing in unpaved streets than the director interviewing doctors, politicians, or even the victims currently battling the awful virus. In the essay Taste of Kiarostami author David Sterritt writes, “…the cultivation of a deeply poetic cinema has been a driving force behind kiarostami’s career.” (2) It is obvious that the Iranian director was able to find the poetic beauty in Uganda, even underneath all of the death and sorrow. Still, like Close-Up, this film is again unashamedly self-reflexive when it should be educational and informative. There is a very emotional scene in ABC Africa when a child, having just passed away, is delicately wrapped in a white blanket and strapped onto the back a man’s bicycle; Uganda’s makeshift version of a hearse. In what may have been the film’s most heart wrenching moment is utterly destroyed by the directors own inability to deny his self-reflexive urges. As the body is being placed onto the bicycle the camera pulls away and documents Kiarostami documenting the terrible incident, presumably showing the irony of the situation.

In both of his films, Abbas Kiarostami is comfortable putting the wretched and hopeless in front of his lenses, under the guise that he is only interested in telling their story. Reprehensibly this is not true. Kiarostami speaks of art and poetry, but is not concerned with humanity or the responsibility of a filmmaker. In Close-Up he used real life victims to re-live their own hardships and despair for the sake of his art. Even worse in ABC Africa, the director tells the Uganda Women’s Effort to Save Orphans (UWESO) that he will document the children of Africa and show the world what horrible conditions they live in. Instead the director spends the majority of the 83-minute long film letting his camera aimlessly wonder, and I cannot find the poetry in that.