Written by Shinobu Hashimoto
Directed Masaki Kobayashi
Japan, 1967
In 18th century Edo Japan, long-time friends Isaburo Sasahara (Toshiro Mufine) and Tatewaki Asano (Tatsuya Nakadai) of the Aisu clan joyfully anticipate a fast approaching annual festival, but all is not well. Isaburo’s son, Yogoro (Go Kato), needs to be wed soon, yet the perfect bride whose status would respect their family honour has yet to be found. This weighs on Isaburo’s wife, the severe Sugo (Michiko Otsuka), even more so than on Isaburo himself. Familial recognition and pride is at stake, two important factors put to the test when the Aisu clan lord, Masakata Matsudaira (Tatsuo Matsumura), decides that his former mistress, Ichi (Yoko Tsukasa), is to be given to them. Controversy stems from the fact that Ichi was actually dismissed from their lord’s court following a rather unorthodox and unexpected emotional outburst. Thankfully the Sasahara’s, in particular husband Yogoro and father-in-law Isaburo, come to love Ichi over the next couple of years, but when lord Matsudaira calls for Ichi’s return to the court following the death of a potential heir, common human decency and draconian protocol will clash.
Looking at renowned director Kobayashi’s output in the early to late 1960s, one is struck by his string of films from 1962 to 1967, which begins with Harakiri, continues with Kwaidan and concludes with Samurai Rebellion. With those three films Kobayashi places himself in some illustrious company with the likes of Hitchcock and Spielberg, filmmakers that also delivered multiple movies in rapid succession, each met with near universal acclaim. Of the three, Kwaidan can be considered the outlier, with Samurai Rebellion serving as a clearer spiritual successor to Harakiri. Both pictures concentrate on the plight of samurai and that their respective families in the face of cultural and political rigidity, rigidity that rarely seems to take into consideration basic, simple human emotions or decency.
As a matter of fact, the film’s English-language title is dangerously misleading. Reportedly devised in order to better sell the film abroad to Western audiences, Samurai Rebellion, the title, conjures up ideas of grand scale action sequences in a movie involving warring factions during the great era of the titular, iconic soldiers. Nothing could be further from the truth. There is some action, although all of it is relegated to the final half an hour in a two-hour long picture far more interested in what it means to be have samurai responsibilities whilst juggling the same personal feelings that any normal human being would in face of feudal lords that make decisions for convenience’s sake. Willy-nilly, dare it be said. What is the more accurate English translation of the original title? Rebellion: Receive the Wife. Not exactly a title that would sell like hot cakes with audiences looking for the next blood-soaked action movie.
Hence the praise showered onto Kobayashi’s work, particularly for his efforts during the decade of the 60s. This is the second time in a five-year span that he sneakily employs a popular genre, the chambara (sword fighting movie) to tell stories with steep emotional and cultural heft. Countless interpretations can be extrapolated from the tragedy of the Sasahara family, the majority of which are as prescient today as they were in 1967. The most obvious is fighting for an ieadl one personally believes in in the face of insurmountable odds. After all, only Soburo, Yogoro, and Ichi are prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice when they forsake traditional, diplomatic channels in order to resolve their differences with their lord’s decision to reclaim Ichi. Among the other themes that run throughout is the idea of necessary cultural, institutional change when the current morays and rules discount basic human requirements, like respect. Several individuals representing the Aiso lord that pay the Sasahara’s visits in the hopes of quenching the crisis do not disagree with Isaburo and Yogoro’s pleas for understanding. They do understand it, they admit as much, but protocol dictates otherwise, emphasis on the word dictate.
Yet another, more subtle theme is the suppression of change. In the latter stages, Isaburo states that he and his young grandchild Tomi (Yogoro and Ichi’s child) will make the trek to Edo and explain the situation to higher ranking officials, provided they make it out alive against the lord’s approaching squadrons of officers with orders to kill if necessary. While the ambitious results of relaying what has transpired to the shogunate are but hypothetical, it is worth a try, prompting Matsudaira to bring out the big guns, literally. Whereas the first two themes are tinted with positivity, this third is all about the lesser of Man’s attributes and inclinations. When possible change threatens one’s comfortable lifestyle, one is often instinctually goes to great lengths in order to protect the status quo, even so far as destroying one’s humanity.
Samurai Rebellion being a Koyabashi film, it is a studiously produced, deliberately paced affair. As with Harakiri, The cinematography and blocking regularly emphasize the space between characters, be they seated or standing, discoursing calmly or readying themselves for a bloody swordfight. Said space is but one of several indicators of how Kabayashi explores the overflowing formality involved in the daily lives of the people that inhabit this period. Ceremony, tradition, respect for hierarchy, the cinematography and production design not only communicate their importance in this world, but how stifling they can be, in particular when so much is at stake.
This formality extends to the final 30 minutes, which is when the samurai blades finally come out, guided with blistering precision by Isaburo, who by now has witnessed enough tragedy and moral injustice to unleash his fury unto any and all that dare oppose him. The rapidity with which he vanquishes his assailants is shocking, with only a single swipe required to cut down most of his enemies. Mifune had of course played samurai before, most notably in a few films from Akira Kurosawa, yet his physical performance here, in part because of the intensity of the sequence, is more frighteningly efficient. It culminates in a classic contest against his friend Tatewaki, the gate guardian. They have deep fondness and respect for each other, the looming contest bearing down on them like a terrible weight. As has been the case since the start of the picture however, the rules of the land care not for what the two men feel for one another. One of them will die an ugly death, the other will have to live with the burden of having killed a friend. Samurai fights are methodical and precise, two qualities director Kobayashi evidently relishes bringing to life, however much they might slow down the pace of an action scene. When Isaburo and Tatewaki size one another up, blades in hand, all bets are off even though deep down inside they had wished it would not come to this, wrapping the entire sequence in despair and tragedy.
In one of the film’s rare triumphant moments, Isaburo, knowing that the odds are firmly stacked against his family because of what they stand for and staring death in the face, exclaims that he has never felt more alive. Positivity in light of dire circumstances is a breath of fresh air in a two-hour long movie in which decent people are treated like dirt. It lasts but a moment yet manages to remind the viewer that the fight is worth it. Despite their admiration for the formality of feudal Japan, Kobayashi’s films are anything but emotional-less. Rather, they celebrate the resolve of people that are compelled to go against the grain and defend the basic human needs of love, companionship and respect.
-Edgar Chaput