As Araki explains to Kuroda, he initially allied his clan with Oda, believing his drive to unify Japan would bring stability and save lives in the long run. However, has turned against the warlord, because his savagery and ruthlessness were a cure that was worse than the disease. Kuroda does not necessarily disagree, but he argues Oda simply has too much support solidified for Araki’s rebellion to succeed. Having failed to sway Araki, Kuroda fully expects to be decapitated, because such was the lot for unconvincing emissaries.
However, Araki breaks with tradition, chucking the illustrious strategist into his dungeon instead. Kuroda is greatly offended by this breach of the bushido code. It also pains him knowing Oda will surely execute his family, assuming he defected to Araki’s side.
Indeed, Araki is so tired of killing, he also refuses to kill his own “hostage,” when the boy’s clan leader father switches back to Oda. Indeed, Araki’s wife Chiyoho clearly developed motherly feelings towards the young lad. Hence, Araki is quite annoyed when a mystery archer kills the youthful hostage with a “magic” Oswald-worthy arrow. To some, the crime appears divinely inspired, but Araki recognizes it as a threat to his clan’s stability and his own legitimacy.
As the year unfolds, each season yields yet another symbolically significant crime. Predictably, Araki trudges down to consult with Kuroda, almost like Clarice Starling facing Hannibal Lecter. Of course, in addition to a mystery (or rather a series of four linked mysteries), Kurosawa’s adaptation of Yonezawa is an elegant Jidaigeki samurai film, with an emphasis on diplomacy and statecraft, at their darkest and most ruthless. Reportedly, Kurosawa embraced the tradition of classic samurai films, including even those of his namesake, but he maintains his constant fascination with humanity’s destructive tendencies.
He also wrote a heck of an adaptation, because it would probably take several reams of paper to fully illuminate the in’s and out’s of the four cases. It is rather amazing that he successfully wraps up the film in just under two and a half hours, while maintaining a stately vibe of high tragedy. This is by far Kurosawa’s best film since his one and only previous “period production,” the 1940s wartime thriller, The Wife of a Spy.
The cast is also uniformly excellent, balancing restraint and passion, as befits the master filmmaker’s masterworks. They probably all knew on some level this would be a film with a long and enduring life. In the lead, as Araki, Masahiro Motoki projects the cool commanding confidence and the disciplined righteousness of a leader whose men will follow into battle and likely death. Similarly, Yuriko Yoshitaka is heartbreaking and even a little scary as Chiyoho, who witnessed Oda’s cruelty first-hand, as one of the few surviving members of a rebellious Buddhist movement he violently suppressed—a fact that proves highly significant.
The Samurai and the Prisoner is an unusually moody Jidaigeki film, but it is still a thoroughly satisfying one. It hits much the same notes as Takashi Miike’s equally masterful Hara-Kiri remake. Without question, this film has honor. Very highly recommended, The Samurai and the Prisoner opens tomorrow (7/31) in New York.
