Kurosawa and Sequels

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There’s a belief in cinema that sequels can never live up to the original film. That’s not actually wrong, but it’s an incomplete statement: sequels can never live up to the original film, so why try to make the same thing twice?

The poster for Sanjuro doesn't quite emphasize the humour and sly playfulness within in the film.

The poster for Sanjuro doesn't quite emphasize the humour and sly playfulness within in the film.

Kurosawa followed up on Yojimbo’s success a year later in 1962 with Sanjuro, a movie built around Toshiro Mifune’s character from the first film. The gallows humour from Yojimbo is swapped for lighter comedy, and the action is less frequent, and yet it’s a more engaging film for it.

It can’t be overstated just how popular the first film was in Japan, especially Mifune’s character Sanjuro. The man is electrifying in the role, so much so that it’s easy to forget he’s got nine sidekicks in this film. Maybe two of them are named – it really doesn’t matter, though, as they function quite like the Greek chorus, commenting on the action at hand. The nine sidekicks are naïve samurai trying to do the right thing by weeding out corruption – only every other player in the game is five moves ahead of them.

Enter Sanjuro, who has softened a bit since we last saw him ruthlessly slaughter a gang to liberate a town.

It’s an odd couple sort of thing, the gruff ronin leading the naïve samurai, and it works. There’s comedy here, and genuine pathos, and a true arc for the characters. The writing is top-notch, especially in how Kurosawa so expertly sets the stage for each major confrontation and the inevitable climax.

More than that, there is genuine beauty to his photography. Yojimbo was a grim picture, stark and all too real. By comparison, Sanjuro is set across a series of Samurai mansions, with manicured gardens and pristine streams and creeks. The scenery is stunning, but the way Kurosawa manipulates it visually draws the viewer in and pulls them deeper into the world.

This, I think, is a hint of the elegance so readily apparent in his later work. It’s graceful, especially in comparison to the frenetic nature of Yojimbo. In so many ways, it stands together, yet apart from its predecessor, and is a stronger film on its own as a result.

A good sequel has to be more than a follow-up. Kurosawa accomplished just that with Sanjuro. It’s clearly a similar film from the same director, a familiar character – but it’s not the same.

After all, why try to make the same thing twice? 

ben filipkowski

Ben Filipkowski lives and breathes film, books, history, music, and TV, so it makes sense that he's an aspiring novelist. When he's not watching Seven Samurai for the seventeenth time (with commentary), he can be found rewriting the latest draft of his novel, or out exploring another side of Ottawa. 

Kurosawa and Cowboys

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A man wanders into a town divided by two warring gangs. Getting the lay of the land, he picks a fight with one faction, killing two men and mortally wounding another. Wandering back to the inn he’s staying at, the man off-handedly tells the cooper, “Two coffins…no, maybe three.”

This is basically Yojimbo, but without the swords and made of plastic. 

This is basically Yojimbo, but without the swords and made of plastic. 

Wait. Haven’t I seen this before?

I have – sort of. This scene is from Akira Kurosawa’s 1961 action flick Yojimbo. Italian director Sergio Leone swiped this exact scene – and indeed the whole narrative – from Kurosawa, repurposing it as A Fistful of Dollars in 1964, a spaghetti western.

Yojimbo might not have the flash of Dollars, but it’s a much stronger film. The shots are cleaner, the motion visible, the cutting and staging clear and prominent. It’s so much more cohesive, and so much more fun.

Toshiro Mifune stars as the titular yojimbo, or bodyguard. He’s a wandering swordsman named Sanjuro, selling his services at the highest price he can get. Sanjuro is also tough as nails, with gallows humour to match.

“I’m not dying yet. I have quite a few men to kill first,” he growls at one point. After the final showdown, where both gangs lie dead and bloody in the street, Sanjuro surveys the aftermath.  “Now we’ll have some peace and quiet in this town,” he deadpans. The dialogue is brilliant, to say the least.

Considering Yojimbo came out in 1961, it holds up remarkably well. It’s entertaining, and Kurosawa’s sense of space and movement really ties everything together. No matter how chaotic a fight is, you never lose that sense of space and location. There's a sense of purpose to it all. When people talk about Kurosawa’s eye, I think this is what they’re getting at.

It’s really a shame that Leone’s western overshadows this film. As great as Dollars is, it plods along, rife with false symbolism. It lacks the energy Yojimbo has, the grim and playful humour, and never improves upon its predecessor.

Kurosawa has a wicked eye for detail and story, though. I love that I can watch Yojimbo and understand everything based on body language and the blocking of the actors. It comes back to that sense of movement, and Kurosawa’s precision with it. He weaves the story into the DNA of the film.

I think that’s what’s missing from cinema these days. The focus is either on narrative content or visual showboating. No one seems to realize you can mix the two together.

Here’s hoping that changes.

Ben Filipkowski

Ben Filipkowski lives and breathes film, books, history, music, and TV, so it makes sense that he's an aspiring novelist. When he's not watching Seven Samurai for the seventeenth time (with commentary), he can be found rewriting the latest draft of his novel, or out exploring another side of Ottawa. 

Kurosawa and Obsession

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I have a confession to make: I am obsessed with film.

I have what can only be described as prodigious recall when it comes to movie trivia. I’m extremely good at naming actors, directors, or films, generally when someone starts a conversation with the words, “What’s that movie with that guy?” I find it immensely satisfying to know stuff about movies. I cannot explain it.

It all began around a decade ago.

Sometimes you just need a good sword fight.

Sometimes you just need a good sword fight.

I was a movie-obsessed teenager who picked up a British film magazine during a cross-country flight. I wanted to read the story about the new Batman movie. I wound up reading every word on every page in that magazine, gleaning a lot from articles ranking “the best” directors.

It dawned on me – I didn’t know who these people were.

A resolution was made. I would teach myself all I could about “classic” cinema, and would watch all the “important” movies I could. That summer, I spent hours in my room watching Coppola, Spielberg, Welles, Wilder, and Lean. I learned everything I could. I was obsessed.

There was one name that kept popping up, though: Kurosawa.

I had no idea where to begin with Akira Kurosawa. I knew he influenced George Lucas, and the first Star Wars was essentially a loose retelling of Kurosawa’s Hidden Fortress, but that didn’t mean much when I had no idea who the guy was or what he was all about.

Thankfully, I had a solution.

Zip.ca, long forgotten with the advent of Netflix, would ship DVDs to your front door every month, for a nominal fee. When you were done with one, you slipped it in an envelope, and sent it back – and soon another would arrive to take its place.

I didn’t know where to start with Kurosawa, but everyone seemed to like Seven Samurai, so I started there. It helped that samurai were pretty cool.

I sat down with popcorn, soda, and hit play. It looked beautiful. But what was going on? Who were all these characters? Why were there only six? Where was Toshiro Mifune, the only Japanese actor I could name? I had no frame of reference, no idea of what this movie meant – but it lit a fire in me.

I’m still feeding that fire. I’ve seen Seven Samurai and his other period epics, but there’s so much more to see. Let’s get started.

BEN FILIPKOWSKI

Ben Filipkowski lives and breathes film, books, history, music, and TV, so it makes sense that he's an aspiring novelist. When he's not watching Seven Samurai for the seventeenth time (with commentary), he can be found rewriting the latest draft of his novel, or out exploring another side of Ottawa.