Sunday, May 30, 2021

Kagemusha (1980)

Welcome back for another round of the Criterion Backlog Challenge.

I really need to come up with a better way to set these up. ANYWAY --

The exploration of the cinematic symbiosis between Akira Kurosawa and George Lucas continues this week with a movie that's both an interesting piece of cinematic history as well as a great film in its own right - 1980's Kagemusha.

 

First, the history, seeing as that's how this ties into the theme.

Even though I've been aware of it for the better part of a decade now, it still feels strange to remember that there was a time when a director like Kurosawa, generally regarded as one of the world's finest now, had a hard time getting movies funded. After his involvement with Tora! Tora! Tora!, a project that took a mental toll on him ultimately led to his being replaced, he spent the better part of the 1970s struggling to get funding in Japan for his movies.

Flash forward to 1978 - a young George Lucas, riding high on the success of Star Wars, gets to meet one of his cinematic heroes to discuss a project. During that meeting, Kurosawa pitches a story of a thief who is tapped to serve as the double for powerful warlord Shingen Takeda. Lucas is quickly enthralled with the idea and enlists Francis Ford Coppola to help him secure funding for it.


This isn't really tying into the main points for the entry,

but I do need to go on record as saying it -

Tatsuya Nakadai is phenomenal as the movie's lead and is

a big part of what makes it work so well.

With the backing of two of the superstars of the then young Hollywood era, the movie became one of two that would help revitalize Kurosawa's name and be considered among his best works (the follow-up, Ran, also had overseas funding.)

Perhaps not as intertwined as last time, but nevertheless, it ties into the theme and is a great piece of film history.

As far as the movie itself goes - I was a bit stumped how to go about picking a focus point for this until being reminded of one line that perfectly encompasses the movie on multiple levels.

To set the scene, the movie establishes early on that the plan for the thief is only temporary. Even when the idea arises of having the thief continue to play Shingen following the warlord's death, it is intended only as a stopgap. Once the clan consolidates and secures itself, the plan would be to let the real Shingen's fate become known and transition out that way.

As the movie draws to its third act, the ruse largely a success, one of the generals in the know asks the question - "When the man ceases to be, what becomes of his shadow?"

This question is at the heart of Kagemusha, both as a character study and with the protagonist's larger task of maintaining the Takeda clan.

For the character, this is why we never learn his real name. All we know of him before he becomes the new Shingen is that he was a thief who was sentenced to be crucified before being spared to be used as a double. Any details of who the man was are left in the movie's first act as irrelevant to his role for the clan. Like the title says (literally translated as 'Shadow warrior') he is there to be a shadow of the real Shingen, conveying his image to his clan as well as to his enemies. The role becomes the man - even as the thief knows his function is superficial, he comes to care deeply for the larger clan. This affection grows to the point where, when he is found out, he is heartbroken that he isn't allowed to say goodbye to Shingen's grandson himself.

That the thief is so subsumed by his role leads to part of the tragedy of the ending - as he is at the beginning of the movie, the thief would happily take his reward and go without a second thought. As we know him by the end, however, he is unwilling to leave the people that have become his world. Even as a peasant, he follows the Takeda army to battle and, ultimately, his own death.

That larger downfall is the other reason that quote sticks with me. In the context of the scene, it only refers to the thief himself, questioning what will await him once the knowledge of Shingen's death comes out. At the same time, it perfectly speaks to the Takeda clan as a whole.

The plan works for a time because the thief purely needs to just speak as coached and follow the generals' leads. He is a face to a larger body that recognizes their clan needs to regroup without their general. The problems arise as a result of Shingen's son, Katsuyori. Katsuyori is introduced to us as a man who is both stuck in, and ultimately chasing after, his father's shadow. That the movie also establishes he is to be skipped over in the line of succession only further fuels his drive for advancement and glory.

It's that desire to follow in his father's path and achieve his own glory that brings about the movie's tragic final act. First it is in his actively striking out while the generals seek to fall back and regroup. This on its own is at least turned around - partly thanks to the thief's presence on the battlefield. Once Shingen's double is revealed, however, it causes the generals to lose their ability to check Katsuyori, reluctantly following his lead as he begins a doomed campaign, arguing that it is what his father and ancestors would do.


The ending also feels fitting with the larger sort of

anti-romantic sentiment Kurosawa's period pieces often have.

Despite Katsuyori's talk of his ancestors and their past

glory, his own campaign falls prey to one of the great

dark jokes of history - "Those who live by the sword,

get shot by those who don't."

Like the thief, the larger forces of the Takeda clan are Shingen's shadow - and with his passing are ultimately doomed to soon follow him into death. In that regard, having the thief follow them to his own doom is a grimly fitting thematic conclusion. Both fates are intertwined - the man who made them what they are is gone, they can only fade with him.

This brings May to an end. As the month changes, so too does the theme.

So see you guys back here next month where, in honor of Queer History Month, we'll be looking at some standout titles in queer cinema, starting with a documentary that's been on my to do list for a while now.


Till then.

Sunday, May 16, 2021

The Hidden Fortress (1958)

Welcome back for another round of the Criterion Backlog Challenge.

I was vague with my description of this month's theme last time. I was curious to see if anyone would figure it out.

If anyone did, they didn't say here, so Hell with it - in honor of May the 4th, we're looking at the cinematic symbiotic relationship between Akira Kurosawa and George Lucas. 

As such, it was only fitting to kick the month off with Kurosawa's 1958 adventure film, considered to be one of the major touchstones that inspired Star Wars, The Hidden Fortress.


Weird, but related, note about me - over the years, my fandom of Star Wars has developed an odd sub-category. That is a fascination with the malleability of the fandom's collective memory. Digging into the behind the scenes history and development is fascinating both for its own sake and for how much of what people have been told and passed along is retroactive mythology.

I bring this up because the role of The Hidden Fortress is one of those topics that gets distorted. Yes, The Hidden Fortress was an inspiration on Lucas, but it's one of many, and frankly, it's one in very broad strokes rather than a direct lift as fans and detractors have argued.

Rewatching this, I was struck less by the parallels between it and 1977's Star Wars and more about the parallels between it and Lucas's later The Phantom Menace. There's so much put into the idea of comparing A New Hope (as we've come to call it) with this movie that it's kind of caused people to miss that the film has stayed with Lucas beyond just '77.


No, seriously.

Main plot point involves a princess in hiding after her

people are defeated and their lands occupied who has

to assume the part of a commoner while traveling with an older

samurai general and some scrappy friends made along the way.

Yuki's character and plot were tapped into hard in '99.

It's not just the story beats that have stuck with Lucas, however. It's hard not to notice to see how much of Kurosawa's camera work has been influential as well. Sequences such as the opening scene of peasants Tahei and Matashichi fleeing an already lost battle can clearly be seen echoed in parts of Lucas's trilogy.

Speaking of the peasants, they make for one of the interesting shifts between Lucas and Kurosawa. Revisiting Kurosawa's films in recent years, I find myself more aware of is how his period pieces often contain aspects critical of Japan's feudal era and some of the ideology of the era. In this case, that comes from where the movie starts off - our two unlucky peasants fleeing the above mentioned lost battle they joined for fortune and glory, instead getting mixed up with several misadventures.

There has already been a great deal said comparing the ill-fated duo to Lucas's bumbling androids, R2-D2 and C-3PO. In this regard, however, they invite a comparison with a different Star Wars character. Besides the droids, the pair also serve as a less lucky Luke Skywalker, leaving their farms for adventure and instead getting into scrape after another before finally getting their reward.

There's more I could say, both for this film and Kurosawa in general as pertains to their influence on not just Star Wars, but much of modern adventure cinema, but to be honest, I'm saving that for a later entry - which I'm sure some of you have already guessed.
For now, this brings this entry to a close.

A belated May the Fourth be with you to you all, and next we jump ahead a few decades to a time when Lucas got to return the favor to Kurosawa.
 


Till then.