El perro rabioso

The following year, 1950, would see Kurosawa achieve his first major international success with the masterpiece Rashomon. Here, Kurosawa doesn't quite have the sureness of touch which would characterize most of his career, but Stray Dog is nevertheless a fine film noir and an effective exploration of Kurosawa's ideas about postwar Japan in particular and the human condition in general.

As you might expect from such a genius, Kurosawa is not satisfied with a simple good-guys/bad-guys cops-and-robbers story. He explores in depth the social and economic conditions in postwar Japan which led many young people--particularly returning veterans--to take to crime, and also the particular circumstances which motivate the acts of Yusa (Isao Kimura), the criminal. Indeed, a series of mistakes by the hero, rookie detective Murakami (Toshiro Mifune), are one factor behind Yusa's crimes.

But neither is Stray Dog a facile blame-society message film, either. Kurosawa makes no excuses for Yusa. By giving Murakami a very similar history (so similar, in fact, that it comes off as a little contrived), Kurosawa makes the point that Yusa had the same choice as Murakami. That he chose differently is his responsibility.

But even more interesting to me is the character of chief detective Sato (Takashi Shimura), Murakami's superior officer, mentor, and friend.

Sato is the wise elder figure in this film, and in the hands of a lesser artist than Kurosawa, such a character generally ends up as a mouthpiece for the director's own viewpoint. Here, though, Kurosawa permits Sato to espouse a hardcore law-and-order philosophy: The cops are the good guys, the crooks are the bad guys, and that's it. Sato has no patience for Murakami's guilt feelings or touchy-feely philosophizing.

That Kurosawa would permit this view (which is not Kurosawa's view, nor the film's) to be given voice by the film's wisest, kindest, most competent, and most likable character is a mark of his confidence and courage.

Captivating American-esque noir, one of Kurosawa's first great films. What seems like a weak premise for a thriller at the start actually ends up providing a great central situation for this movie which drives it forward much better than, say, Donzoko. Music, also is great.

Toshiro Mifune, looking young and handsome, is quite marvellous as the central character, a detective whose gun is stolen on a bus. What starts out as a detective nervous about finding his gun and fixing a silly mistake, develops into a frantic and desparate man who feels somehow responsible for whatever crimes are committed with his gun. The suspense and detective-story plot are well developed in Stray Dog, but what really makes the story captivating is the revelation of the central character's feeling of guilt throughout, and his learning about crime, criminals, and that what is important is to make good come of your mistakes.

This early Kurosawa effort floats stylistically somewhere between the film noir and neo-realism, incorporating the best from both worlds to elaborately craft a landscape (both physical and social) of post-war Japan. It's only been 4 years since the dreadful A-bombings and the subsequent defeat of Japan in WW2 and both the country and the people are deeply scarred. War veterans return home to find a country torn by poverty and as the saying goes, desperate conditions demand desperate measures.

A very young Toshiro Mifune plays the greenhorn detective who has his gun stolen and spends the rest of the movie trying to track down the culprit. As it turns out the culprit is a war veteran just like Mifune's character, only where the latter tried to do good and found an honest job, the former opted for the easy way out and became a criminal, using the stolen gun to rob and kill. This adds an additional layer of motivation for detective Sato. Not only does he have to restore his honour (ironically symbolised by the lost gun which he tries to retrieve), but also redeem himself by bringing the killer to justice. What makes matters worse for him is that every time his stolen gun is fired someone dies or gets injured, which adds another burden of guilt on the shoulders of the young detective.

The story might appear too moralistic and convenient (both antagonist and protagonist share a common background, being war veterans, making the distinction of good and bad all too easy), but it has to be seen in the context of the times. Mifune says that there are no bad people, only bad situations. But as his detective collaborator on the case remarks (played by the great Takashi Shimura, who also starred in Seven Samurai) he faced the same bad situation and made something good out of it. Kurosawa here neatly balances the social climate of post-war Japan and the conditions of the times with personal responsibility.

Story-wise it's a worthy effort, but like Rashomon, it sounds a little bit better than it actually is. Not that Stray Dog is a bad movie by any means, but clocking in at 2 hours it starts to drag near the middle. There are some nice set-pieces that showcase Kurosawa's growing talent (like the phone scene in the hotel where he uses inter-cutting to great effect) and the performances are solid all around. There's also a silent 10 minute montage of location footage shot in rundown neighborhoods as Sato searches the black market for his gun, which serves as a poignant snapshot of Japanese history.

Kurosawa would go on to achieve international acclaim with his next movie, Rashomon, but Stray Dog already shows that he was destined for great things. Compared to later entries in his filmography Stray Dog appears to be a minor entry, but it's still well worth the time to discover.

With his penchant for incorporating "Western" ideas into his films, Kurosawa hits yet another home run with his take on the crime film. As ever, he manages to make scenes that would (in the hands of a lesser director) seem boring become absolutely riveting. Mifune's ride on the trolley, when he loses his gun, for instance; or the scene where he has to explain the situation to his superiors (and the subsequent search through police files for a suspect); or the long undercover sequence. We can almost feel his frustration. The tension mounts. And yet again we have the brilliant Shimura playing off of Mifune, speaking in carefully modulated tones as he dispenses advice to the hotheaded young detective. If ever there was a more perfect combination of performers in cinema history, I never saw them.

This early Kurosawa film interested me not only as a historical object, but because, as in every one of his films I've seen so far, the moral and philosophical implication of the story carries as much weight as the dramatic and poetic aspects. As another commenter said here, "When was the last time you saw a film where the central character had something called a moral imperative." To me it's extremely gratifying to find directors like Kurosawa, Bergman, and today's Hirokazu Kore-eda who treat moral themes seriously and with dignity, and don't shy away from difficult questions.

I was also intrigued by how almost every scene bears, already, the stamp of Kurosawa's unique vision as a director. I have no idea how this comes about, but there's just something there, almost like a fingerprint, that says "Kurosawa" unmistakeably. I would have to leave it to more gifted and better schooled viewers than myself to explain it, but I love seeing it. In part, I suppose it's due to the exceptionally fine cinematographers that Kurosawa habitually worked with.

I think the film is about thirty minutes too long, but if I have to see a film that's a bit too long, I'm at least glad it's by Kurosawa!