Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s The Samurai and the Prisoner

Lord Murashige Araki, the Daimyo of the Setssu-Ikeda clan, has the good fortune to command his forces from Arioka Castle, which is almost like the Helm’s Deep of 1580s Japan. However, he also needs a detective equal to Eco’s Brother William of Baskerville. Instead, he has his sworn enemy, Oda Nobunaga’s tactician, Kanbei Kuroda, secretly chained-up in his dungeon. Kuroda has plenty of time to apply his deductive reasonings to Araki’s mysteries, but the verbal sparring inevitably reveals the precariousness of the Lord’s position in Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s The Samurai and the Prisoner, adapted by the filmmaker from Honobu Yonezawa’s novel, which opens tomorrow in New York.

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.

Japan Cuts ’26: Gosh!!

It's like a Hudson & Rex for stoners. The world thinks Oliver is a heroic police dog, but whenever his handler, Ippei Aoba, looks at him, he sees a slovenly middle-aged drunk wearing dog costume. Understandably, Aoba has difficulty reconciling public perception with his private reality. Oliver certainly doesn’t try to make it any easier. Nevertheless, they have been at this for a while. Like The Mandalorian, Sex in the City, and The X-Files, the hit 2021 Japanese TV series continues with an all-new feature film, director-screenwriter-co-star Joe Odagiri’s Gosh!!, which had its North American premiere at this year’s Japan Cuts.

Aoba and Oliver have recently been hailed as heroes, but it doesn’t make sense to the K-9 officer. He knows Oliver’s true nature and he realizes their success was dumb luck, with the emphasis on dumb. However, he is happy to work with his Academy mentor, Yayoi Hagoromo, when she requests their temporary transfer for a case. Considered the department’s best handler, Hagoromo can make Oliver act like a “normal dog” (as Charlie Brown would say) when she takes his leash, instead of a creepy drunk perv.

Of course, Oliver has a lousy nose, but it won’t matter much for this case. They are searching for Konishi, a compulsive “volunteer,” who became a local folk hero. Unfortunately, he wandered through a portal to a different dimension, very much like the mysterious red door “freelance” journalist Masatoshi Nagase walks through while investigating Konishi’s disappearance. However, instead of the dimension Konishi remains trapped in, Nagase arrives in world very much like our own, except everyday life is exclusively focused on Takoyaki.

Essentially, Gosh!! plays like Ted the foul-mouthed teddy bear, taking a detour through the Twilight Zone. Frankly, the mid-section roams so randomly out into left field, it gets a little lost for a while. However, when it comes to weirdness, it is tough to one-up. Frankly, it might have worked better on TV, in shorter, more focused installments. On the other hand, as a movie for mature (in terms of age, but immature of mind-set) audiences, there were no constraints on its rudeness, which was clearly liberating.

Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s Bright Future

It is the Incredible Journey of jellyfish movies. It also follows in the long Japanese cinematic tradition of disaffected young adults. However, unlike the “Sun Tribe” movie characters, Yuji Nimura and Mamoru Arita are decidedly working class. The latter is also clearly sociopathic. Yet, they both have a strange affection for Arita’s pet jellyfish in Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s Bright Future, which re-releases today via the Metrograph’s virtual cinema.

When the film starts, the two slacker friends are working at an industrial laundry, but they might take off at any time.  Nimura thinks they will be like the two guys in Route 66, so he is surprised when Arita decides to move on without him. Nevertheless, he readily agrees to care for Arita’s jellyfish, at least until he returns for it. It turns out that will take much longer than either of them anticipated, because of a shocking impulse Arita indulges.

This turn of events leaves Nimura in a confused state of depression, which only deepens when he accidentally allows the jellyfish to leak into the canal. However, he finds some unlikely companionship with Shinichiro Arita, his friend’s father, who is even more estranged from the rest of his family than he was from Mamoru. Nimura even starts to learn the junk dealing trade, until he is distracted by sightings of the jellyfish in the waters flowing around the city.

If you learn nothing else from this film, you must remember jellyfish are poisonous. They can also be hypnotic, at least when filmed by Kurosawa and cinematographer Takahide Shibanushi. This is definitely a film of stark yet subtle shades, shifting from black-and-white to sepia tones, and back to grainy gray-scales, with the spectral colors of the jellyfish most haunting of all. You can tell just by looking the title holds all kinds of ironies.

It is also strangely absorbing. This is really not another horror film from Kurosawa, but it is certainly some kind of genre movie. Major crimes are definitely major crimes and there might even be the hint of the supernatural. More importantly, it offers a meditation on friendship and human connection. Kurosawa vividly and compellingly shows viewers how the passive Nimura’s problematic friendship with the dominant Arita continues to have a corrosive effect on his subsequent relationships.

Fantasia ’18: Room Laundering

Call it karma fraud. Japanese law requires prospective tenants receive notification of a recent death in a rental unit, but it does not stipulate how far back that regulation applies. Goro Ikazuzi provides a work-around. He supplies a short-term resident to establish a buffer between future tenants and the deceased, rendering the flat “laundered.” His niece Mika Yakumo might either be the best or worst person for such a job, because she sees dead people. Usually, Yakumo resolutely resists any form of personal connection, but she will uncharacteristically find herself getting involved with two ghosts and maybe even a living human during the course of Kenji Katagiri’s Room Laundering (trailer here), which screens during the 2018 Fantasia International Film Festival.

Yakumo’s father died when she was five years old and her mother mysteriously vanished a year later. It is now just her and angle-working uncle. He is a bit of a sleaze, but he seems genuinely protective of her. Most of the time, Yakumo easily ignores the ghosts in the apartment she launders, but she rather starts to enjoy the goofy personality of Kimihiko Kasuga, a punk rocker who now regrets committing suicide. In fact, she is somewhat sorry when she is reassigned to her next flat.

This could be her toughest case yet—her first murder site. Yuki Chikamoto was a cosplaying business executive, who was brutally stabbed by an intruder. She would very much like Yakumo to help bring her killer to justice. Kasuga would too. Much to her surprise, he has also moved with Yakumo, because he is attached to an object she removed from his former home. There also happens to be a somewhat geeky but presentable young chap next door who is quite interested in Yakumo—again, much to her surprise.

In many ways, Room Laundering is a dark film, but it also manages to be absolutely charming. Katagiri and co-screenwriter Tatsuya Umemoto never water down Yakumo’s emotional issues and anti-social tendencies, which is why it is so satisfying when she finally starts to come out of her shell. Fundamentally, this is a story about growing up and learning to process pain, but the room laundering premise and the attendant ghost subplots are wickedly clever.

Elaiza Ikeda is terrific as Yakumo. It is a restrained and disciplined performance that never takes the easy way out, but still pays off in a big way. Likewise, Joe Odagiri is endlessly surprising as Ikazuzi. This isn’t his splashiest or most important role, but it is likely to become a fan favorite. Kiyohiko Shibukawa earns all kinds of bittersweet laughter as Kasuga, while former AKB48 member Kaoru Mitsumune is quite poignant as Chikamoto.

First time helmer Katagiri takes his time establishing his characters and the rhythm of their lives, but his third act is an endlessly inventive parade of revelations. This is an undeniably eccentric film, but it should be described as soulful rather than quirky. Very highly recommended, Room Laundering screens again on Saturday (7/21), following its North America premiere at this year’s Fantasia up north.

SFFILM ’18: The White Girl

This unnamed teenager is a lot like Japanese singer-songwriter Yui’s character in Taiyou no Uta (Midnight Sun) and whoever in the lame American remake. She too is allergic to the sun’s ultraviolet rays—or so she has always been told. However, she is not a singer, but perhaps her mother was—and maybe still is—or not. She is an outsider in Pearl Village, Hong Kong’s last surviving fishing hamlet, but in some ways that helps her appreciate what it represents in Jenny Suen & (co-director) Christopher Doyle’s The White Girl (trailer here), which screens during the 2018 San Francisco International Film Festival.

All her life, the “White Girl” has hid beneath floppy hats, sunglasses, and protective clothing, because her controlling fisherman father assured her she must. Given her resulting pale skin and shy manner, the villagers dubbed her “White Girl” or even “Ghost” and have become convinced she can contaminate their nets with bad mojo with a hard stare. Her only friend is Ho Zai, a scampish little boy living with an eccentric Buddhist monk, at least until Sakamoto, an emotionally damaged Japanese expat fleeing his troubles, starts squatting in the decrepit colonial mansion overlooking the bay.

For the most part, the White Girl and Sakamoto are drawn to each other, because they sense the shared empathy and comradery of a fellow wounded spirit. However, there is also an element of creepy sexual attraction that Sakamoto scrupulously represses. Yet, she will still lose much of her innocence for other reasons, as she comes to doubt the validity of everything her father ever told her. Meanwhile, the resourceful Ho Zai uncovers evidence of the mayor’s plan to sell out the village to a consortium of Mainland investors.

White Girl is a more focused and conventional film than Doyle’s Hong Kong Trilogy, which Suen produced, but it is still much more concerned with mood and vibe than crass plot points. Without doubt, we can see its aesthetic kinship with some of the classic Wong Kar-wai films he shot. It is a quiet, lulling film, but fortunately Angela Yuen and Joe Odagiri can emote though the humid languor as the girl and the squatter. Jeff Yiu is also unusually charismatic for a young thesp as Ho Zai, while Rayna Lee adds some unlikely sympathetic glamor as the village school teacher, Miss Wong. However, Leung Kin-ping probably scores the most points for dramatics with his poignant turn as the girl’s clueless father.

Honestly, nobody would have accused Suen & Doyle of selling out if they had cranked up the narrative a little. Clearly, they believe meandering is part of the journey. Of course, the symbolism of the hyper-connected Mainland developers out to obliterate Pearl Village’s way of life is tough to miss, but that doesn’t mean the message isn’t still needed. Regardless, the mostly attractive and uniformly expressive ensemble redeems the stylistic excesses. Recommended as an evocative and elegiac coming of age film, The White Girl screens again this Monday (4/16), as part of this year’s SFFILM.