Akira Kurosawa's The Hidden Fortress

Toshiro Mifune as Rokuota.

I just want to say upfront that the least interesting thing about The Hidden Fortress is that George Lucas has said it inspired Star Wars (1977). Akira Kurosawa's 1958 adventure can stand on its own. It was a huge hit in Japan when first released and has garnered critical raves since then. That said, I had mixed feelings after recently watching it again.

Set in Japan in the 16th century, The Hidden Fortress opens by introducing Tahei and Matashichi, two greedy, constantly bickering peasants. After being captured by and then escaping from the Yamana clan, they encounter a mysterious stranger. They tell him how they plan to navigate through enemy lines to safety in Hayakawa. The peasants don't know that the stranger is General Rokuota (Toshiro Mifune), who has been tasked with the mission of transporting Princess Yuki through dangerous Yamana lands.

The bickering duo.

Rokuota realizes that the peasants' plan is ingenious. He takes them to the location of a hidden fortress, where they eventually encounter the princess. The peasants, though, think she is a mute girl of no importance. Princess Yuki plays that role to the hilt when she, Rokuota, Tahei, and Matashichi start their journey with the enemy close behind. It's a trek filled with danger and, of course, the two greedy fools--who make both idiotic and unintentionally intelligent decisions.

The first half-hour of The Hidden Fortress plods along relentlessly, focusing on the ineptitude of Tahei and Matashichi. Initially, they are an amusing pair, but their act quickly grows wearisome. The story finally picks up when Kurosawa injects some much-needed drama. We learn that Rokuota's sister has died in Yuki's place in an effort to protect the princess. Later, after the quartet has begun its journey, we discover that Yuki's servants have also sacrificed themselves to buy their mistress valuable time.

The defiant princess.

In contrast to the film's sluggish opening, its final 90 minutes comprise an exciting, near-perfect action film. Rokuota fights four assailants on horseback, hides in plain sight in a town infested with the enemy, and--best of all--confronts an old nemesis in an elaborate duel with spears.

Director Akira Kurosawa's focus, though, is on the princess. When we first meet her, she is obstinate, defiant, and petulant. She undergoes a transformation during the journey, becoming more compassionate, learning to rely on others, and displaying courage when required. In a key scene, she thanks Rokuota for allowing her to experience the journey and learn what she never could have known inside the castle walls.

Misa Uehara as Princess Yuki.

Toshiro Mifune projects a compelling presence (as he did in most of his films), but is more serious than in better-known movies where he played broader characters (e.g., Sanjuro, Yojimbo). That's a good thing considering that the peasants are played for comedic effect. That leaves it to Misa Uehara to provide the most captivating performance as Princess Yuki. Given little dialogue, she defines her character using facial expressions and body language. Surprisingly, this was the actress's first film and her acting career consisted of just nine movies from 1950 to 1960.

As always, Kurosawa incorporates vivid landscapes into the action, with the story punctuated with forest trails, rocky paths, dusty pits, and sweeping hills. It's one of the reasons why some of his films worked so well when remade as Westerns (The Magnificent Seven, A Fistful of Dollars).

When released in the U.S., The Hidden Fortress was edited from its 139-minutes running time. One version cut 13 minutes and a later reissue eliminated a whopping 49 minutes. I'm hoping that's all at the start of the film!

Samurai Rebellion -- A Shock to the System

I was a little reluctant to dip my toe in the water of this month’s theme. I have given serious attention to only three films based on martial arts, The Seven Samurai (Japan), Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (China), and The Karate Kid (Hollywood). I also remember my sons watching Bruce Lee movies incessantly when they were young, but I only caught quick glimpses of those films as I carried the washbasket into the bedrooms or called them to dinner. However, I decided to stretch my wings and give it a try for Kung Fu month at the Café. I picked out the movie in the same basic manner that I used once to find a locksmith, by opening the yellow pages and blindly putting my finger on a name. In this case, I decided to go to my Netflix Streaming account and see what was to be had. I noticed a film called Samurai Rebellion which starred Toshiro Mifune, a great actor that I remembered from The Seven Samurai and also the marvelous mini-series, Shogun. The name sounded right, I liked Mifune, and thus my decision was made. How could I have known that I was about to see a movie that would not only keep me riveted to the screen, but has also now become one of my favorite films?

Released in 1967, the original title was Joluchi – Hairyo Tsuma Shimatsu, translated as Rebellion – Receive the Wife. For American audiences, it became Samurai Rebellion, a title that distributors felt would be a better attraction for martial arts enthusiasts. Produced by Mifune Productions and Toho Company, Samurai Rebellion is based a novel by Yaslaiko Takiguchi, with screenplay done by Shinobi Hashimoto. I am so ignorant of these films that even in my research I did not recognize other movies from these sources that I could cite as good examples of their work. I do know that director Masaki Kobayashi, production designer Yoshiro Muraki, and editor Hisashi Sagara, created a marvel of black and white beauty, utilizing incredible spatial orientation in the sets, and symbolic interpretation in even the look of the film that tells the story with as much importance as the words.

Samurai Rebellion does indeed include martial arts, but not as I expected. Set in the year 1725, it is the story of Isaburo (Mifune), a man who was once a great swordsman and has reached middle age as a samurai vassal to the Lord of the region in a time of peace. Isaburo does his routine, daily work as part of the Lord’s samurai guard. Without a war to fight, it is a time when he finds himself the father of grown sons and the sadly hen-pecked husband of his wife of 20 years, Suga (Michiko Otsask). Suga is a bitter, sour woman, and the marriage has never been a happy one. Family name and honor were the reasons behind Isaburo’s marriage to Suga, and he secretly grieves for the intimacy and love he never felt, and would never know. Isaburo has a close acquaintance named Tatewaki (Tatsuya Nakodai), a strange relationship between two men who apparently have some old feud, but who decided long ago not to fight it out so neither of their families would be hurt. Now they are friends, and Tatewaki seems to be the only contemporary who understands Isaburo’s state of mind. Tatewaki plays an important and unexpected part in Isaburo’s story.

Isaburo’s oldest son, Togoro (Takeshi Kato), is of marriageable age, and the Lord sends word that he wishes to foist off his troublesome mistress as wife to Togoro. Rumor says that she is a headstrong, belligerent woman who attacked the Lord and a new mistress out of jealousy. However, she is also the mother of the Lord’s second son, and cannot be punished. To disobey the Lord’s wish would mean dishonor and trouble for Isaburo’s clan. Togoro, in his desire to keep his beloved father and the family name out of trouble, insists that he will take the woman. This event triggers Isaburo’s life passage from his present status as a quiet man who has accepted his unhappy destiny to a strong father determined to save his son from the same fate. In a surprising turn, the woman Ichi (Yoko Tsukasa) is a wonderful wife to Togoro and a loving daughter-in-law to the sour and suspicious Suga. Togoro and Ichi come to love one another, and Isaburo feels great affection for Ichi. When Ichi finally tells her story, the great injustices and heartbreaks which have afflicted Ichi bind her even more closely in the hearts of the two men. She had been forced to leave her son because of the Lord’s unjust whim, just one of the many sorrows Ichi has endured. She turns to Togoro in love, and they build a happy life with their new little daughter, Tomi. Isaburo’s own happiness for his son is poignant and heartrending.

However, as Isaburo said to his friend Tatewaki early in the film, “The world never seems to go right.” The Lord’s first son becomes ill and dies, and now he demands Ichi back as mother of the second son who is now the heir to his realm. Togoro refuses, then waivers as the family, including his mother, quarrel viciously with him for his unfilial behavior at putting his wife before clan and name. In a meeting with Togoro and Isaburo, Ichi sees Togoro’s wavering determination, and she is devastated. Isaburo then turns into a tiger -- Ichi will not be returned to the Lord, Togoro and Ichi’s love must not be destroyed, Tomi’s parents must not be taken from her. Togoro regains his first determination, and the two men are ready to fight all of the Lord’s army if necessary. Isaburo’s almost-forgotten legendary gift with the sword is rekindled. The rebellion begins, and the story unfolds to viewers in ways of which they could not have dreamed. When martial arts come into play, the emotional effect upon the viewer is astonishing.

Sometimes, at least for me, it is difficult to know if a Japanese actor is a good one simply because of the enormous difference in manner and language emphasis. To me, the Japanese language seems to make everyone sound angry, even if they are not, and it can be challenging to guess at the acting ability of showing emotion because of those issues. But great acting is clearly evident here. Mifune was in his mid-40’s at this time, and coming to his prime in acting ability. He is simply a marvel in this complex role. Kato as Yogoro, and Nakadai as Tatewaki, both offer performances of depth. But it is Tsukasa as Ichi whose extraordinary acting prowess gives her the same power on film as the veteran Mifune. I would defy any viewer with a shred of soul to remain unmoved by this incredible actress.

I remember sitting with my Dad watching Toshiro Mifune in Shogun. We never missed an episode. Dad had been a tail gunner in the Army Air Corps, fighting the Japanese during World War II. I remember turning to him one night when a thought struck me like one of Isaburo’s sword strokes -- Dad and Mifune were the same age, and they might have been trying to kill one another. Dad thought for a minute with a far-away look in his eye, as so many of the men who fought would do when asked about the war. He just said “It’s possible, honey. But we were all just kids.” I learned something important about the supreme act of forgiveness possible to the human spirit from my Dad. I’ve learned something new again with Samurai Rebellion, about the universal nature of great film in a genre to which I had never really given a chance. I should pick my movies that way more often.

Akira Kurosawa's Sanjuro: Floating Flowers and a Slicing Sword

Sanjuro was my first foreign film, my first samurai film, and my first Kurosawa film. When I watched in it on PBS in the early 1970s, I’m not sure if I even knew who Akira Kurosawa was (but suspect I soon learned). I found Sanjuro charming, intriguing, and mesmerizing. Each time I watch it again, I’m reminded of that unique blend of qualities. Although I admire the more critically-acclaimed Kurosawa films such as The Seven Samurai and The Hidden Fortress, none of them has toppled Sanjuro as my favorite.

The plot bares a passing resemblance to The Seven Samurai, in which a village hires down-on-their-luck samurai to protect them from marauding outlaws. In Sanjuro, a group of young men are joined by a wandering samurai in their quest to oust a corrupt official from power. Sanjuro Tsubaki (Mifune) is a reluctant hero, though. After eavesdropping on the young men discussing their village’s problems, he emerges only to offer advice (“They say outsiders can be good judges”). However, after learning that the youngsters can’t take care of themselves, he agrees to help.

The young men and the villain’s henchmen quickly learn that the disheveled, yawning, perpetually-scratching Sanjuro is a force to be reckoned with. Although a master swordsman capable of single-handedly defeating a horde of bad guys, Tsubaki’s greatest strength lies in his shrewdness. He uncovers that the “good” superintendent and the “bad” chamberlain are just the opposite—it’s the superintendent who has been taking graft and plotting a takeover.

Unlike many bloody samurai films, Sanjuro balances the swordplay with humor and charm. An old lady chastises the veteran warrior Tsubaki, warning him that “killing is a bad habit.” The cynical Tsubaki, who admits allegiance to no one, develops a fondness for the young men he’s helping.

Mifune has a field day in the title role. A film critic once pointed out that John Belushi’s “Saturday Night Live” samurai character was obviously patterned after Mifune’s performance in Sanjuro. He may be right; it’s hard to watch one and not think of the other. It also highlights that Mifune was a fine comedian as well as an action hero.

Kurosawa’s direction is seamless, flowing effortlessly from kinetic (as in the swordfights) to poetic (camelia blossoms flowing down a creek). The final showdown between Tsubaki and another samurai (whom he respects) is stunning in its efficiency and shock value.

I find it interesting that many of Kurosawa’s films have been adapted for American and European audiences. The Seven Samurai was remade as The Magnificent Seven (and other films); Yojimbo became A Fistful of Dollars; George Lucas even says that Star Wars was inspired by The Hidden Fortress. But no one has remade Sanjuro—perhaps indicating that it truly is a one-of-kind samurai picture.