Zatôichi kyôjô-tabi

By this point, the 'Zatoichi' series has slipped into full-on episodic territory, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. In essence, it's a bit like 'James Bond'; each outing takes place within a vague continuity but doesn't require any pre-existing knowledge to be enjoyed. It's perhaps surprising that the series didn't get an official television show until 1974, though that probably has more to do with the landscape of entertainment media at the time than anything else. 'Zatoichi The Fugitive (1963)' sees its eponymous blind masseur with a price on his head after he defeats a local yakuza gang in a wrestling tournament, eventually finding himself caught in the middle of an underhanded gangland coup. Our protagonist inserts himself into this issue seemingly in an effort to aid a pair of sweethearts whose love it inhibits, perhaps because he doesn't want them to be affected by the same problems that plagued his past - spurred on by the return, in what's basically an extended cameo, of his first love, Otane (last seen in 'The Tale Of Zatoichi Continues (1962)'). As he continues to run afoul of the local mob, the price on his head grows larger and larger, attracting the attention of a rough samurai whose very first appearance almost silently promises a final showdown between the pair. The piece is as character-focused as you'd expect from the series, with themes of love and honour pusling through its veins. Though Zatoichi is almost constantly opposed to killing and even goes out of his way to fulfil the final wishes of those he has to dispatch, the flick has a rather high body count. Its action alternates between suspenseful and exciting, especially in its aforementioned climactic face-off. The feature is also surprisingly funny. It moves at a decent pace and does a good job of keeping you invested in its proceedings. It does occasionally get a tad confusing (there are a lot of names thrown around and it isn't always clear exactly who everyone is) but this isn't a major issue. Overall, it's an enjoyable affair throughout. 7/10.

The following review is an extract from the book "Shintaro Katsu´s Zatoichi: Complete guide to all movies", which is now available on Amazon.

"(...) Zatoichi agrees to be transported in a jinrikisha (a type of proto-taxi in Japan of the Tokugawa era, and other Asian countries). Persecutors who want to kill the blind man see how he rides the vehicle, as they keep a close watch on him. At the edge of the road, Zatoichi and his carriers meet a woman with a baby who feels unwell. Chivalrously, Zatoichi proposes to the mother to get into the car in his place; he will continue on foot. A few meters ahead, the jinrikisha is attacked, the killers strung the person inside thinking that it is Zatoichi ... and killing instead the young mother (...).

(...) Zatoichi, who feels responsible for the tragedy, decides to take the baby to the town of Miyagi to give it to her father Unosuke, the husband of the deceased.

(...) This issue is the eighth sequel to the excellent "Zatoichi monogatari" (Kenji Misumi, 1962). The director of every film about the adventures of the blind swordsman is not always the great Kenji Misumi, but this is the case in this "Zatoichi kessho-tabi" that we are dealing with today, and whose international title in English comes to be, without much sense, "Fight, Zatoichi, fight". We say without much meaning because that title is not necessarily descriptive of the film (Zatoichi fights in all his films), and we are inclined to think that it is not the literal translation from Japanese either.

MASSEUR ICHI, THE FUGITIVE (1963) is the fourth in the series of Japanese swordplay films devoted to the exploits of Zatoichi, the blind swordsman whose super-hearing and sensitivity enabled him to perform impressive feats of derring-do. This entry is somewhat slower-paced and less action-packed than would become the norm in later Zatoichi films (which would continue to be produced through 1973). There is only one major swordfight, near the very end, but at least it's a spectacular one, with Zatoichi (Shintaro Katsu) slashing opponents right, left, front and back, although the spurting bloodshed which would soon become a distinct feature of samurai films is noticeably absent here. Zatoichi himself is also considerably less superhuman than he appears in later films.

Instead, the emphasis is Zatoichi's role as mediator in a conflict between gang bosses in a town he is visiting solely to pay respects to the mother of a gang member he'd killed who'd been seeking the ten gold coin bounty on Zatoichi's head. The complex interrelationships among the characters center chiefly around two young women, one of them a former lover of Zatoichi's who is now the wife of a sword-for-hire seeking to sell his services to one of the wily bosses. Zatoichi sides with the underdog, Sakichi, who'd reluctantly inherited his father's territory but would rather marry the other young woman, Onobu (Miwa Takada), the pretty young daughter of the innkeeper, a once-powerful gang boss bearing a powerful grudge because he'd lost his territory to Sakichi's father. The gang bosses pressure the vulnerable Sakichi to use Zatoichi's trust to set a trap for him. The stage is then set for a series of confrontations that culminate in the final battle.

It may be slow going for most action and swordplay buffs, but it has a formal beauty that later films in the series dispensed with in favor of more visceral thrills. The polished camerawork, largely on location, gives us stately compositions focused on the characters and their relationships. A sparing score by venerated composer Akira Ifukube adds a touch of class. Samurai films of the time routinely boasted such visual and aural elegance long before the audience demanded more bloodshed and a more excessive approach in later films (see, especially, the "Lone Wolf and Cub" series).

Masseur Ichi, the Fugitive (1963)

*** (out of 4)

The blind swordsman Ichi (Shintaro Katsu) angers a large yakuza after defeating them in a wrestling match, which will lead to a bigger fight. Directed by Tokuzo Tanaka. This here was my second film in the series and while I enjoyed most of the first one, this one here just doesn't cut it. There's way too much talking going on and none of it is even mildly interesting. Even worse is that the actual swordfights are rather lame as well. The concept of a blind swordsman is really the only thing that keeps this film (and perhaps series?) afloat.

Ichi, the blind, wandering swordsman, happens upon a small festival and enters an open sumo competition. Exploiting sighted competitors' assumptions about his disability, he eliminates five consecutive men and claims the top prize. This draws the ire of local yakuza, who identify the legendary swordsman from previous misadventures and place a bounty on his head. As he swiftly eliminates would-be assassins, Ichi is exposed to the clan's inner turmoil and interferes to the best of his ability. He also bumps into an old love, advises a young admirer and tangles repeatedly with a skilled, testy ronin.

This series had already swapped directors a few times by this point, but maintained a sense of continuity in both visual and thematic senses. Less so in this instance, which feels blander and more workmanlike than the others, force-feeding the character into unfavorable situations and missing subtle details that would have merited a closer look in previous chapters. Shintaro Katsu remains essential in the leading role, expertly alternating between faux merriment and quiet stoicism to suit the situation. Yet, despite this being his story, he's played as more of a willful fly in the greater ointment than an enigmatic focus and his big action scenes (now far more frequent) are largely misdirected. We get one excellent duel - the climactic final showdown with an equally-skilled rival - but the rest of the film's fights are of the twelve-on-one variety and that's not what Ichi does best. If anything, those brawls test the limits of what an audience can be expected to believe. An expert samurai, compensating for his blindness by noting the tight squeak of an adjusted grip or the expectant air of an incoming strike? That's where it's at. I can lose myself in such a fable. A cornered fighter, dodging six trained blades in a whirlwind of pure, chaotic, dumb luck? Now I'm having second thoughts.