...but the movie is great fun even when you know what's going to happen.
I'd like to call it the B-side of Yojimbo, mainly because it revisits the same character that that movie is based on, Sanjuro, but in other respects as well, being it much less renown than that movie, not that it is any less good, making it sort of the movie that a real Kurosawa fan would know about. But these two pieces are mirrors of themselves. They are strategy movies in that they are artistic 'games' that keep the viewer guessing, also showing aspects of life in the form of a staged situation, and since Kurosawa and his writing collaborators were such great masterminds at this, one is immediately caught up as if he were playing himself, or at least trying to keep up with the players' moves. The movie piles up images, intrigue, mystery and suspense and resolves it all in a very cohesive, almost perfectionist way. I mean, it is hard to find mistakes here, though we know that most of it is uncanny. I think, in this sense, Kurosawa had the talent of structuring his plot negatively, precisely by way of mistake. Every single positive plot line is rebutted by the man who has the bigger picture in mind, which is the samurai Sanjuro, who has the capacity of seeing negatively, of experiencing mistake before it occurs. This renders wonderful plot construction throughout, and source of limitless inspiration, in my opinion. Sadly, this wasn't anything that someone like George Lucas, or many other people Kurosawa influenced over the years, used in their movies. If they had, the Star Wars legacy would be a complete experience, and not just a pile of special effects with a couple of decent dramatic story lines (I give Lucas that much). Sanjuro builds wonderfully and its cohesiveness is only surpassed by its cinematic artistry.
The first scenes are both beautifully staged, intelligently written, and remarkably revelatory, as we witness not only a few minutes of in-depth character construction, but also the plot structure unfolding and the general philosophy of the film taking heed. It then goes to show, through a combination of Kurosawa's staging and Mifune's acting, the omnipresence of the samurai, much in the way Luke Skywalker failed to show his when he was finally a Jedi in Episode vi of the Star Wars saga. For example, in that movie, the Jedi pushes 'bad guys' away through an omnipresent power which no one sees or feels. That in itself negates the possibility of us believing the power is actually his -the Force he called it (giving it a name, and such a redundant use of it, already weakens the whole concept) apart from the fact that most of the revelations of this 'Force' are creatively deficient. Here, the samurai confronts over 200 men in a most astonishing opening fight that lasts very little time. One of the great lines is his samurai contender's 'ceasefire', who says: 'Leave him. It'll take us too long to get rid of him'. The scene is a great battle scene, because of the character content it portrays, one which summarizes in just a few seconds how necessary and ingenious a fight can be within the framework of a story, far from being just merely a formulaic tool for suspense (Check out how he turns the back to the camera... cinematically more effective than attracting a sword through thin air). Finally, in this opening sequence, Kurosawa presents the exemplary subject of his film: a batch of rebellious dimwits, unexperienced and weak (again, in very little time this is explained to the utmost detail), who must overcome an inevitable destiny of imperial corruption. Their only strength of course is the goodness of their cause. We are about to witness the intent of the impossible: how a rebellion of just a handful of men shall try to overcome an entire 'empire'. This also reminds us of Star Wars, but sadly, again, Star Wars never makes us understand how powerful the empire is, what type of corruption it holds (what is the dark side anyways... why is it dark, just because they wear black, just because the are holding Leia prisoner? must be because the emperor is so ugly), and what qualities, strength, weaknesses, do the rebels hold? Oponents are devoid of contrast within themselves, thus that whole storyline is more or less a waste. In Sanjuro, it is central, because one is forced to acknowledge the ludicrous scenario (so present in humanity), and a very exemplary one in itself: the strength of corruption versus the weakness of decency. One severely outnumbers the other. And one is much more mischievous and astute, while goodness, as we see here, is few and far between, seems vulnerable, innocent and in many cases just plain dumb. The addition of the samurai personifies both sides and creates gorgeous shading throughout. Finally, the triumphal finale is wonderfully executed. And the final cinematic metaphors of that plight are unforgettable.
There are many things that can be analyzed here. But the reception of the thematic elements is what varies and inevitably, as in all or most film except for those we call classics, it is this that will divide opinions and make some people accept one film and not another; like one film or dislike it. So, yes, there is a possibility you'll find it uninteresting as a whole. However, what really makes this movie worthwhile for anyone (I say that as objectively as I can), even if you don't like B&W or older films is the final scene: one of the most spectacular segments I've witnessed in my life. So, maybe just for that, it is worth sitting through it.
I'd like to call it the B-side of Yojimbo, mainly because it revisits the same character that that movie is based on, Sanjuro, but in other respects as well, being it much less renown than that movie, not that it is any less good, making it sort of the movie that a real Kurosawa fan would know about. But these two pieces are mirrors of themselves. They are strategy movies in that they are artistic 'games' that keep the viewer guessing, also showing aspects of life in the form of a staged situation, and since Kurosawa and his writing collaborators were such great masterminds at this, one is immediately caught up as if he were playing himself, or at least trying to keep up with the players' moves. The movie piles up images, intrigue, mystery and suspense and resolves it all in a very cohesive, almost perfectionist way. I mean, it is hard to find mistakes here, though we know that most of it is uncanny. I think, in this sense, Kurosawa had the talent of structuring his plot negatively, precisely by way of mistake. Every single positive plot line is rebutted by the man who has the bigger picture in mind, which is the samurai Sanjuro, who has the capacity of seeing negatively, of experiencing mistake before it occurs. This renders wonderful plot construction throughout, and source of limitless inspiration, in my opinion. Sadly, this wasn't anything that someone like George Lucas, or many other people Kurosawa influenced over the years, used in their movies. If they had, the Star Wars legacy would be a complete experience, and not just a pile of special effects with a couple of decent dramatic story lines (I give Lucas that much). Sanjuro builds wonderfully and its cohesiveness is only surpassed by its cinematic artistry.
The first scenes are both beautifully staged, intelligently written, and remarkably revelatory, as we witness not only a few minutes of in-depth character construction, but also the plot structure unfolding and the general philosophy of the film taking heed. It then goes to show, through a combination of Kurosawa's staging and Mifune's acting, the omnipresence of the samurai, much in the way Luke Skywalker failed to show his when he was finally a Jedi in Episode vi of the Star Wars saga. For example, in that movie, the Jedi pushes 'bad guys' away through an omnipresent power which no one sees or feels. That in itself negates the possibility of us believing the power is actually his -the Force he called it (giving it a name, and such a redundant use of it, already weakens the whole concept) apart from the fact that most of the revelations of this 'Force' are creatively deficient. Here, the samurai confronts over 200 men in a most astonishing opening fight that lasts very little time. One of the great lines is his samurai contender's 'ceasefire', who says: 'Leave him. It'll take us too long to get rid of him'. The scene is a great battle scene, because of the character content it portrays, one which summarizes in just a few seconds how necessary and ingenious a fight can be within the framework of a story, far from being just merely a formulaic tool for suspense (Check out how he turns the back to the camera... cinematically more effective than attracting a sword through thin air). Finally, in this opening sequence, Kurosawa presents the exemplary subject of his film: a batch of rebellious dimwits, unexperienced and weak (again, in very little time this is explained to the utmost detail), who must overcome an inevitable destiny of imperial corruption. Their only strength of course is the goodness of their cause. We are about to witness the intent of the impossible: how a rebellion of just a handful of men shall try to overcome an entire 'empire'. This also reminds us of Star Wars, but sadly, again, Star Wars never makes us understand how powerful the empire is, what type of corruption it holds (what is the dark side anyways... why is it dark, just because they wear black, just because the are holding Leia prisoner? must be because the emperor is so ugly), and what qualities, strength, weaknesses, do the rebels hold? Oponents are devoid of contrast within themselves, thus that whole storyline is more or less a waste. In Sanjuro, it is central, because one is forced to acknowledge the ludicrous scenario (so present in humanity), and a very exemplary one in itself: the strength of corruption versus the weakness of decency. One severely outnumbers the other. And one is much more mischievous and astute, while goodness, as we see here, is few and far between, seems vulnerable, innocent and in many cases just plain dumb. The addition of the samurai personifies both sides and creates gorgeous shading throughout. Finally, the triumphal finale is wonderfully executed. And the final cinematic metaphors of that plight are unforgettable.
There are many things that can be analyzed here. But the reception of the thematic elements is what varies and inevitably, as in all or most film except for those we call classics, it is this that will divide opinions and make some people accept one film and not another; like one film or dislike it. So, yes, there is a possibility you'll find it uninteresting as a whole. However, what really makes this movie worthwhile for anyone (I say that as objectively as I can), even if you don't like B&W or older films is the final scene: one of the most spectacular segments I've witnessed in my life. So, maybe just for that, it is worth sitting through it.