Grading system:

Legendary: 10/10
Top Shelf: 8-9.5/10
Upper Mid-Tier: 6-7.5/10
Mid-Tier: 4-5.5/10
Low-Tier: 1-3.5/10

I decided to go back and watch all of Kurosawa's films (one per week or so) over the next several months for fun, so thought I'd start a thread to discuss and comment on his body of film work.

Sanshiro Sugata (1943) - Kurosawa's first film follows protagonist Sanshiro Sugata, a strong yet wild and immature young man who wishes to learn jujitsu. He ends up training under Shorgoro Yano in judo (a less respected martial art) who starts him on his journey toward enlightenment, meaning and purpose. Along the way he falls in love with Sayo (daughter of local rival Hansuke Murai (played by Takashi Shimura)) and eventually has to face Gennosuke Higaki, a self-made jujitsu expert, in a fight to the death.

There are several things that stood out for me in Kurosawa's debut film (though about 17 minutes of film were cut by Japanese censors at the time of re-release in the 50s). For one, the opening shot is a point of view shot from Sugata's perspective (which one doesn't realize until the camera turns the corner); it initially came off to me as just a moving camera shot to establish the environment, so it was a nice surprise to discover what Kurosawa was doing there. The climactic duel between Sugata and Higaki at the end of the film takes place in a wide open space with wind blowing hard, adding drama and tension to the moment (something Kurosawa excelled at); even the match between Sugata and Murai was tense and well done in a more constricted space. I also found the character's story (based on the novel by Tsuneo Tomita) to kind of follow a similar character arc as Eiji Yoshikawa's Musashi. Susumu Fujita's portrayal of the title character is easy to root for, and I really enjoyed Ryūnosuke Tsukigata's performance as Higaki - his villianous character looked fun to play. Despite being trimmed down by 17 minutes I thought the film was interesting and a decent directorial debut. (Low-Tier)

mkaroly wrote: ↑Mon Aug 26, 2024 7:43 am Sanshiro Sugata

I went to watch this one a couple of years ago. I don't remember much about it. (I might not have even finished it!) Kurosawa is The Master as far as I'm concerned, but I found Sanshiro Sugata a curious portent of things to come, but not really that exciting in and of itself.

I was not aware it had been cut down -- I wondered why its running time was so short!

Sanshiro Sugata - Does the Criterion disc restore the 17 minutes?

Have you watched Sanshiro Sugata Part Two?

Edmund Kattak wrote: ↑Wed Aug 28, 2024 11:18 am Sanshiro Sugata - Does the Criterion disc restore the 17 minutes?

Have you watched Sanshiro Sugata Part Two?

Unfortunately the footage does not exist (or so the title card says)...the Criterion DVD presents the re-release print from 1952 or 1953. I wish the footage was available - the film uses title cards to fill in the places where I am guessing the cuts were made. I wish it had included some of the material connected to Shansiro's training with Yano...I think that would have added well to the dramatic element of the film.

I watched Part II a long time ago...plan on watching that one after watching The Most Beautiful in the next few days.

mkaroly wrote: ↑Wed Aug 28, 2024 12:49 pm Unfortunately the footage does not exist (or so the title card says)...the Criterion DVD presents the re-release print from 1952 or 1953. I wish the footage was available - the film uses title cards to fill in the places where I am guessing the cuts were made. I wish it had included some of the material connected to Shansiro's training with Yano...I think that would have added well to the dramatic element of the film.

Bummer.

The Most Beautiful (1944). Kurosawa's second film was a semi-documenatry that followed the lives of a group of women working in a precision-optical factory during the war. They are given an increased load of work to do during an emergency quota period, and the film focuses on their happiness and sorrows, showing that selflessness for the whole (in this case, Japan) demands great personal sacrifice and struggle. The team of women is cared for by "dorm mother" Noriko Mizushima (Takako Irie) and are led by Watanabe (Yoko Yaguchi), a stoic and strong woman whose mother back home is dying.

The film is very patriotic and appeals to nationalistc pride as these women work for the war effort at home while their male counterparts face death out in the field. The title of the film ultimately refers to the group's leader, Watanabe. A few of the characters in the group are highlighted with tragic events: one gets sick and has to go home against her wishes. Another breaks her leg by accident, while another has a consistent fever which she begs Watanabe not to report. The women all stick together through thick and thin and ups and downs, even finding a way to persevere through infighting. I found the movie sweet in its way - the spirit and foritude of these women come through well in the acting performances and Kurosawa's direction. They all also did a great job portraying the eventual fatigue and mental strain experienced by the women as the emergency quota period went on and on.

The one thing that stood out to me was the final shot of the film. After receiving some heartbreaking news, Watanabe goes back to work and tries to calibrate a lens while fighting back tears; the camera stays statically focused on her to the fade out. It reminded me a great deal of the ending shots of Ikiru in which Watanabe sits on a swing set in the snow at the end of his life. While this final moment in The Most Beautiful does not carry the heavy emotional impact which Ikiru does, it is still interesting to me to see Kurosawa doing something like this so early on in his films. Overall The Most Beautiful is certainly not his best film by any stretch, but I do find it moving and effective for what it is. (Mid-Tier)

Sanshiro Sugata Part 2 (1945). This sequel to the original film shows the continuing process of enlightenment, growth, and maturity of its title character (and sees the return of several actors from the first installment). Sugata has a moral crisis over his commitment to judo and how his victories have affected others. He is also confronted with two other fighting styles over which he struggles: boxing (from America) and karate, a more aggressive and deadly martial art utilized by the unstable and vindictive brothers of Gennosuke Higaki (the villain from the first film). Sugata finds he must break rules and expectations in order to get past his dilemma and find his true inner happiness.

For me, what is interesting about this film is the contrast Kurosawa makes between judo (which I think represents Japanese honor, dignity, and enlightenment), boxing (which represents Western decadence and barbarity), and karate (which represents a twisted, almost ‘psychotic’ martial art that threatens judo and what judo stands for). Unfortunately I do not find the title character all that compelling, though I am not sure if that is due to the acting, the directing, or the story itself. Speaking of which, while the story arc between the two films has an epic scope, I did not feel it was well developed enough (my ‘anachronistic’ gold standard for this kind of story is The Samurai Trilogy which was made between 1954 and 1956 by Hiroshi Inagaki). I do think this movie has some memorable moments though: Sugata’s duel with Gennosuke’s brother in the snow is longer and much more suspenseful and dramatic than his duel with Gennosuke in the first film. Of interest as well is one of Gennosuke’s brothers (who suffers from seizures) sporting long hair and a Noh theater type face (pale white) which makes him look ghostly (Kurosawa seemed to be inspired by Noh theater throughout his career). The moments when Sugata practices for his boxing match in an empty dojo, lit only by a lamp on the floor in the middle of the room, make it look like both preparation and self-confrontation (in my opinion). Ultimately this is not Kurosawa’s best work but has its moments which show his continued growth as a director with techniques and presentation. (Low-Tier)

The Men Who Tread on the Tiger's Tail (1945). Clocking in at a very quick 59 minutes (!), Kurosawa’s fourth film is a version of a kabuki play (which itself is based on a Noh theater drama) about the attempt of Minamoto no Yoshitsune and six of his loyal samurai to escape the clutches of his brother Yoritomo during the latter Heian and early Kamakura periods of 12th century feudal Japan. Yoshitsune (Tadayoshi Nishina) and five other loyal samurai are led by Benkei (Denjiro Okochi) and are disguised as monks; they are taken through the forest by a comical porter (Ken'ichi Enomoto). It was Kurosawa’s addition of the comical porter to the story that led to his film being censored (as the Japanese censor board believed Kurosawa was mocking feudal values and undermining a sacred historical event); it remained unreleased until 1952.

Since it was filmed toward the end of World War II, Tiger's Tail was made on a shoe–string budget and thus takes place on one set; the film “plays” like a stage play and I found myself enjoying it as if I was in attendance at a theater house watching a live drama unfold. Noh-styled music was provided by composer Tadashi Hattori, which I thought was really cool. Despite being such a short film (and cheaply made), Kurosawa was able to create tension and drama well, especially when the group reaches a barrier overseen by Togashi (Susumu Fujita) and occupied by Yoritomo’s forces. Enomoto’s performance as the porter stands out as does Okochi’s fearless Benkei; there is also something of a ‘Greek chorus’ in the film that narrates a few things to clarify and advance the story. Class differences also stand out in the film. This was Kurosawa’s first official samurai film, and I admittedly have a deep affection (and bias) for his samurai films, so of all the films he made during the war, this would be my favorite so far. It is a compact film and efficiently made, though Kurosawa would go on to make much more compelling and complete stories in this genre as his career continued. (Mid-Tier)

No Regrets for Our Youth (1946). Based on the Takigawa Incident of 1933, the story follows Yukie (Setsuko Hara), the protected and immature daughter of a well-respected professor at Kyoto Imperial University. Early on her father gets dismissed from his post because he does not support the state-sanctioned invasion of Manchuria. Yukie is courted by two of his students at the university: Noge (an anti-militarist and leftist) and Itokawa (a moderate who goes with the majority). Noge goes on to get arrested at a student protest whereas Itokawa becomes a government prosecutor, and as time passes it becomes clear that Yukie harbors a true love for Noge. The events that follow show Yukie searching for her identity and purpose as she pursues Noge, even though her love for him and her personal freedom come at a significant cost.

This is arguably Kurosawa’s most complete and compelling drama up to this point in his career. The film and story succeed due to the charismatic on-screen presence of Setsuko Hara, whose performance is stellar and well-rounded (for those familiar with her well-known work in Ozu films, you might be pleasantly surprised at her acting range in this film). Yukie’s transition from an innocent, immature and idealistic girl to an experienced, mature and determined woman who finds her identity and purpose is fulfilling and moving, especially in the context of the times. There are many striking visual moments in the film as well: Kurosawa captures the dreamy freedom and innocence of Yukie and the students with a tracking camera through the forest as they chase her. He shows the darker, more haunting reality of Yukie’s choices and struggles as she gets interrogated by tough-as-nails police commissioner Dokui (Takashi Shimura) with great use of shadows and light. The montage of Yukie working the rice fields on behalf of her ostracized in-laws in a small peasant village shows Yukie’s character growth and maturation as she determines to go against the grain. All in all I find this film profound and moving; it is well-made and well-acted. If you watch an early film of Kurosawa’s, I would say this is the one to watch. (Upper Mid-Tier)

And one other thing - the reveal of Setsuko Hara's face in the film is just as good as, if not better than, the reveal of Grace Kelly's face in Rear Window. It'll melt your socks off and/or make you weak in the knees...lol...

One Wonderful Sunday (1947). The story follows two young lovers, ex-soldier Yuzo (Isao Numasaki) and his girlfriend/fiancée Masako (Chieko Nakakita), as they spend time together on a date on Sunday (the only day of the week they can see each other). The two try to figure out what to do on their date with only a meager 35 yen between them to spend. Yuzo is especially dour and sad this time around because they are poor and cannot get married yet; he is losing his hope and the ability to dream big. Masako maintains her hopeful outlook and encourages Yuzo to keep dreaming big dreams as they walk through the streets of post-war Japan. But the realities of the world around them press in hard, testing their love for each other as well as their hopes and dreams of a better future.

Overall this is a decent film that is a respectable entry in Kurosawa’s filmography. The characters of Yuzo and Masako (especially the latter) are easy to pull for as they navigate through a post-war world that cares very little about them; I thought the acting in the film was strong. As the viewer follows the couple around on their date, Kurosawa effectively makes use of sound and environment to enable the viewer to palpably feel what the couple is feeling. Two sequences in particular stood out for me where this was concerned: one is a sequence where Yuzo and Masako are in his apartment after he gets beaten up by ticket scalpers. As the couple sits in utter despair, the sound of the rain pouring down outside coupled with the dripping of rainwater into a pan inside the apartment adds to the power and emotionality of the moment. The other sequence is in the carabret and how the upstairs-downstairs sections of the carbaret (and the sounds associated with both) reflect the uncomfortable differences between the upper class-lower classes in the world outside. I also really liked how expertly Kurosawa framed the film with a couple of repeated images – it begins and ends at a train station, and a stray cigarette butt on the street in both the beginning and ending of the film adds a nice touch in defining the day as well as in defining the couple’s future.

One sequence in particular needs to be mentioned, because this one sequence is arguably what the film is most well-known for (unfortunately it requires a bit of a story SPOILER, though I won’t give away the actual moment). Building on an earlier plot point in which Yuzo and Masako decide to attend a concert featuring Schubert’s Unfinished Symphony, toward the very end of the film the couple find themselves in an empty outdoor ampitheater. Having recovered from his dour mood Yuzo is back to dreaming big. In the face of all the negative things the couple experienced on their date, Yuzo pretends to conduct the Unfinished Symphony that they were unable to see. Although the sequence on the whole is grandiose and moving, Kurosawa does something so unexpected as to be somewhat jarring and to feel completely out of place. Had the film as a whole not had so many strengths, I think Kurosawa’s artistic decision here during this sequence would have derailed the film. Some may complain that the film gets too sentimental, but for me, despite this one moment sticking out like something of a sore thumb, I feel One Wonderful Sunday is entertaining and a good effort. (Mid-Tier)

Now that I have watched more than a few of his films, I am going to start "grading" them. I posted the grading legend on the first post of the thread; from here on out I will use that system to grade each film.

Drunken Angel (1948). Doctor Sanada (Takashi Shimura), an alcoholic with a temperament, runs a clinic in post-war Japan in a small city. The city is controlled by yakuza underling Matsunaga (Toshiro Mifune) while Okada (Reisaburo Yamamoto), his superior, is serving time in prison. Matsunaga goes to Sanada’s clinic to get treated for an injury only to discover that he also has tuberculosis. Sanada takes an interest in trying to help Matsunaga beat the disease, though both patient and doctor are stubborn and trapped in the lives they have chosen to live. Matsunaga makes an effort to heed Sanada’s advice, but things change when Okada gets released from prison and returns to the city to reclaim his position. Matsunaga is forced to confront who he is and who he wants to be in light of Okada, his worsening tuberculosis, and Sanada’s hope that people can change.

It is with this film that Kurosawa really began to take off, in my opinion. Drunken Angel builds on the theme of finding self-identity that characterized a few of his earlier films (most notably No Regrets for Our Youth) and develops the theme of hope that things and people can change. The film focuses on the “master-student” relationship of sorts between Sanada and Matsunaga, though it is Matsunaga’s personal journey and discovery of self that pushes the drama forward most (and provides to emotional payoff at the end). This was Kurosawa’s first collaboration with Mifune, and although this was not Mifune’s first film, his unique presence and charisma make an indelible mark on this particular film.

There are several other things in the film that stand out for me; for one, the city has at its center a large sump/swamp where people dump their garbage; it symbolizes sickness (TB) and the diseased state of the gangsters who occupy the city (as well as, I’m sure, some kind of statement about post-war Japanese society). The film uses a lone guitar player to signal transitions in the story (something like act breaks or chapter breaks) which I thought was a cool “filmic” thing to do. The film’s climactic sequence (a confrontation between Okada and Matsunaga) is perhaps not as edgy as something we are used to seeing in Western films, but it is nonetheless dramatic and moving in light of Matsunaga’s journey. And the ending of the film was not the original ending; Kurosawa had to change it in light of the censors. However, the ending that is in the film is quite powerful in light of the theme of hope. All in all I feel this is a really good film. (Upper Mid-Tier)

The Quiet Duel (1949). Doctor Kyoji Fujisaki (Toshiro Mifune) is a medical surgeon working at a field hospital during the war. During a procedure on a soldier’s injured leg, Kyoji accidentally cuts himself with a scalpel and exposes himself to the soldier’s blood (Nakada, played by Kenjiro Uemura). Kyoji discovers that he has contracted syphilis from Nakada and starts injecting himself with Salvarsan, unsure as to whether the treatment will be effective or not. He returns home after the war feeling ashamed and keeps his secret to himself. He decides to break off his impending marriage to fiancée Misao (Miki Sanjo) who waited for him for six years and to dedicate his life to being the best doctor he can be, working alongside his father Konosuke (Takeshi Shimura) at a hospital that specializes in treating the underprivileged. The plot thickens when Kyoji crosses paths with the soldier he contracted the disease from whose wife Takiko (Chieko Nakakita) is expecting.

This film was based on a play, and its title refers to Kyoji’s inner conflict between his desires as a human being (love, sex, family, children, etc.) and his moral obligations in light of the disease he has contracted. Because he has syphilis, Kyoji has to forsake his love for Misao so as to not spread the infection to her. He has to make responsible choices and think of others despite the desires he feels. His character is perfectly contrasted with Nakada, a reckless man who selfishly thinks only of himself, which leads to dire consequences for the family he is trying to build. The story is very dramatic and unfortunately, for me, comes across as somewhat sterile and emotionally ineffective. The opening sequences in the field hospital are very strong – Kurosawa uses rain and the dripping of water in a pan to great effect (it is the dripping water that distracts Kyoji and causes him to be careless in placing the scalpel back on the table). Once the story moves to the hospital, it looks and feels like a stage play. Kurosawa wanted the film to end with Kyoji going insane from the infection but due to censors and the advice of Japanese doctors he chose to do something different that builds on the themes of hope and new beginnings. The film has its moments but I was unable to connect with it emotionally and feel it is a lesser effort in Kurosawa’s filmography (though I did enjoy seeing the hospital related things since I work at a hospital). (Low-Tier)

Stray Dog (1949). On an unbearably hot day in Tokyo, rookie homicide detective Murakami (Toshiro Mifune) has his Colt pistol stolen from him. Feeling responsible for and guilty over the incident, he makes his mind up to recover the gun and finds the woman who initially stole the gun from him (Ogin, played by Teruko Kishi). Although she does not have the gun, she gives him information about where he could find it. Murakami goes undercover in the black market and makes contact with a pistol dealer but mucks up the deal, though he arrests the girlfriend of the leader of the ring. Murakami’s anxiety grows more intense as he realizes his stolen Colt is being used to commit crimes, leading his superior Nakajima (Masao Shimizu) to team him up with older detective Sato (Takashi Shimura) in order to track down the criminal, retrieve his gun, and put an end to the crime spree.

Kurosawa’s crime drama was one of the earliest detective movies ever made in Japan; he had originally written the story as a novel before making it into a screenplay. The film is noteworthy for several things; for one, it has a documentary feel to it which does not feel entirely out of place (as did some of its predecessors). The montage sequence of Murakami walking through the black market streets shows actual footage of the black market in post-war Japan in 1949; the baseball game sequence used stock footage of a real baseball game. Both sequences are lengthy but serve a good purpose; the former served to visually represent Murakami’s almost hopeless task in finding his gun while the latter was used to build suspense as Sato and Murakami try to find a needle in a haystack. Kurosawa’s compositional framing was also interesting, especially when he had three characters in a shot. It reminded me somewhat of Orson Welles and Citizen Kane whenever I saw it happen, but there are several moments when characters were framed in a triangle shape. I do not know if there is any significance to that, but it really drew my attention. The film does a great job of conveying heat as a character in the story, from sweat stains, sweat on bodies, Sato constantly wiping his face and arms with a rag, panting – one can tangibly feel the discomfort and the heat the characters must be feeling.

The title of the film refers to the story’s antagonist Yusa (Isao Kimura) and the story is very character focused. Yusa (like Murakami) returned from the war and he (like Murakami) had his knapsack of belongings stolen from him. Stray Dog’s main theme is that of choice – when faced with adversity and hardship, what choice does one make to moving forward? Yusa suffers from depression and a sense of defeatism that drives him to make bad choices; Murakami chose to become a cop and does not lose his sense of the moral responsibility he has towards others. And concerning Murakami’s relationship with Sato, they each represent a different generation: one pre-war (Sato) and one post-war (Murakami), each with its own philosophy toward the human condition. As the film builds towards its ending confrontation, Kurosawa pulls out all the stops in building suspense and tension (I would say Hitchcockian in a very real way!) on the way to a showdown between Murakami and Yusa. And once again Kurosawa delivers the goods with a very memorable, moving climax that humanizes Yusa before closing with a brief coda. The acting throughout is fantastic, and one can easily ‘feel’ the outlooks, suffering, and anxiety the main characters have and feel. All in all, in my opinion this is a strong achievement which likely influenced many of those ‘cop buddy’ movies we enjoy. (Top Shelf)

Scandal (1950). While in the countryside painting a picture of a mountain, Ichiro Aoe (Toshiro Mifune) meets a young lady named Miyako Saigo (Yoshiko Yamaguchi). She missed her bus and was walking to the next stop, so Aoe offers her a ride into town on his motorcycle. It turns out that Saigo is a famous singer who hates to be photographed, and unfortunately tabloid photographers happen to see her riding on the back of Aoe’s motorcycle. While she and Aoe are talking to each other at an inn, the photographers manage to get a picture of them together. They bring it to their tabloid magazine and create a scandal, falsely writing that Aoe and Saigo are having a romantic affair. Incensed, Aoe chooses to sue the magazine for libel and hires Hiruta (Takashi Shimura), a down-and-out lawyer who has a gambling problem and whose daughter has tuberculosis. Although good intentioned toward Aoe and his case, Hiruta cannot help himself and works both sides. Yet knowing his flaws and duplicity, Aoe has faith in him and gives Hiruta and opportunity to redeem himself and change his ways.

Most of the film spends its time building up the characters and narrative, reserving the final 30 minutes or so for the trial in the courtroom. There are moments that I felt were a bit drawn out or maybe a bit more melodramatic than I care for; oddly enough, while the narrative unfolds around the scandal created by the tabloid magazine, Aoe and Saigo have more of a supporting role – the main drama is really focused on Hiruta (who comes into the film around the halfway point) and the opportunity he has to change his ways. Hiruta’s character (an alcoholic in addition to being a gambler) is reminiscent of Sanada in Drunken Angel (who was also an alcoholic and lost his way until someone gives him an opportunity at redemption). I feel the film was somewhat prophetic in its depiction of how truth can be grossly and irresponsibly twisted into fiction and lies for some sort of gain, for it still has relevance today. Mifune is pretty reserved in this film yet still has a magnetic presence – it is amazing how he just stands out in the scenes he is in. I have read that this film represents another critique of Western culture and modernization; it is also a protest against the liberties the Japanese press could take in invading personal privacy. Ultimately Scandal is a straight-forward film that is entertaining but does not really break new ground. And like several films before, Kurosawa adds what I found to be a nice, sentimental touch toward the end of the film before its coda. (Mid-Tier)

Rashomon (1950). While waiting out a torrential downpour at the Rashomon city gate in 12th century Japan, a woodcutter (Takeshi Shimura) and a priest (Minoru Chiaki) reflect on and try to understand a horrific crime that was recently committed: the murder of a samurai (Masayuki Mori) and the rape of his wife (Machiko Kyo) by a bandit named Tajomaru (Toshiro Mifune). They engage with a commoner (Kichijiro Ueda) at the gate who gets to hear the different testimonies of what happened from the points of view of the woodcutter and the priest (who both also report the points of views of the woman, the dead samurai (though a medium), and Tajomaru from the police inquest they attended). While all the testimonies agree on some things, they ultimately differ on versions of events after the rape of the woman, leading one to question which story (if any at all) can be trusted as closest to the truth.

Based on two short stories by Ryunosuke Akutagawa, Rashomon is more of a fascinating reflection on human nature (specifically, the nature of reality and truth) than a murder mystery. Seventy-five years after its initial release, I feel it has not lost any of its greatness; every time I watch the film I notice something different that I never noticed before. Personally, I think I like this film as much as I do because of its style and technical excellence. For example, I love the dynamic camera movements in the film: from the camera moving in front of and around the woodcutter as he walks through the forest to the way the camera follows the wife’s gaze around the shoulders of her husband – it lends dramatic intensity to the events on screen and accentuates them. The composition within the frame is outstanding as well – actors in groups of three in triangular configurations are ubiquitous throughout the film, and the symmetry is so precise and noticeable. Rashomon is just very artistically satisfying to watch - it is extremely well-made. The acting is fantastic, the score is strong, and the story is engaging. The ideas of relative truth and notions of reality from different points of view are timeless themes that remain just as relevant today as at any point in human history. While I do not find Rashomon to be overtly moving in the same way I do other Kurosawa films, I do feel this is one of his crowning achievements that I never tire of watching and soaking in. It definitely deserves the respect it gets, in my opinion. (Legendary)