Démons

If anyone imagined how a Greek tragedy would look if it was set in feudal Japan, look no further. It is a harrowing, exhausting, depressive experience, but it's worth it. The film follows a once great warrior, now a Ronin (for those unfamiliar, Ronin is a samurai without a master), named Gengobe, who has sold all of his property to repay his debts. He is in love with a geisha who is to be married to a rich lord, unless someone pays 100 Ryō for her liberty. Once he realizes that he was being played by this geisha and her husband, of whose existence he was unaware of, he becomes hell bent on revenge.

The film emits a strange sense of reality distortion. The film begins with a dream sequence, that is somewhat foreshadowing of things to happen. This theme is prevalent throughout the film. We can see things unfolding, only to realize that it was just a thought, or a fantasy of a certain characters. Reality tends to be different, albeit sometimes it can lead to the same conclusion. What was particularly striking was the way the graphic scenes of violence were portrayed. They were slowed down, they almost feel other-wordly, yet these graphic scenes are strangely beautiful. Highly contrasted Black and white cinematography helps this, we see characters illuminated against dark background like phantoms and the black blood coming out of the wounds becomes even more noticeable.

Shura is a tale of vengeance than leads all the parties involved into an abyss of some sort. There is no bright light at the end of the tunnel. Because of mere 100 Ryō, these people have turned into "Demons" and they're lives became "Hell". This film isn't disturbing because of its visual content, but because of its emotional impact. Gengobe isn't a typical hero, the reason why one would want to root for him is because he is an agent of justice (like Monte Cristo), but not because he himself is a virtuous hero worth rooting for. It's easy to hate most, if not all of the characters, but at the same time, it's difficult not to feet pity for them. Seldom comes a film that makes one feel this way.

This film is not for everyone, it's extremely pessimistic, it doesn't offer glimmers of hope. It's not an easy watch, but it's worth it. I highly recommend it to anyone who is interested in film as an art form.

It is sometime during the Edo period, and Soemon is a Ronin living under the assumed name of Gengobe in Fukugawa, Tokyo. Indebted and unable to acquire the necessary funds to join the 47 Ronin in their quest of vengeance, he spends his days drinking sake and his nights with geishas. One geisha in particular: Koman, who pledges her eternal love for him. This love proves to be fickle, for Koman is a married woman. After his servant Hachiemon acquires 100 Ryo for Soemon to join the Ronin, he is quickly swindled by Koman and her husband Sangorô. Left penniless once more, Soemon descends into a bloody spiral of insanity and violence from which he may never return.

Written and directed by Toshio Matsumoto- and based on the Kabuki play 'Kamikakete Sango Taisetsu' by Nanboku Tsuruya and Shûji Ishizawa- 'Shura' is a strikingly photographed tale of revenge and madness that plays like a samurai film noir. Containing hard-hitting violence, a cynical anti-hero and a duplicitous femme fatale, the film bears many of the hallmarks that informed the noir movement of the 40's and 50's. Told in a non-linear fashion, the narrative incorporates flashbacks, alternative scenarios and repetition, challenging and confusing the viewer. The story is a gritty, dark one, maintaining a bleak and fatalistic tone, which is only heightened by the striking cinematography from Tatsuo Suzuki.

Shot in black and white, Suzuki makes excellent, evocative use of light and shadows, creating a startling contrast that adds a sinister sense of despair and claustrophobia to proceedings. His usage of dissolves, super-impositions, angled shots and zooms heightens the narrative tension, whilst also lending the film a surreal, eerie quality that strengthens the narrative impact. Suzuki also utilises the minimalist sets- a nod to the film's origins in Kabuki theatre- masterfully, making the most of the limited spaces in an artful and imaginative way.

A frequent collaborator of Matsumoto's- working on at least three of his films, including the acclaimed 'Funeral Parade of Roses'- Suzuki was at the forefront of Japanese experimental cinema. Working alongside a variety of independent directors, Suzuki made a name for himself as an innovator in terms of cinematography and its capabilities. His avant-garde work could very well be seen as influential on, or as a forerunner to, the work of Shinya Tsukamoto, or even David Lynch. Here, he leaves the audience wide-eyed in wonder at the eerie, noiresque imagery- be it of apparent floating lamps chasing our central character or the beautiful visage of a geisha, highlighting the torment in her eyes. Throughout 'Shura,' Suzuki's efforts don't just bolster the narrative and its tone- they leave you spellbound.

As do the intense performances from the cast, most notably Katsuo Nakamura as Soemon. A former Kabuki actor, Nakamura displays his character's complex emotions and inner turmoil fantastically, utilizing expressive gestures, movements and facial expressions. He interacts with the rest of the cast convincingly, painting a compelling portrait of a man driven to madness and violence by the actions of others. Alongside him, Yasuko Sanjo delivers a masterclass in understatement as the geisha Koman. She brings much grace and elegance to the role, perhaps accrued from her years as a dancer, leaving an indelible impression on the viewer. Masao Imafuku also does fine work as the servant Hachiemon, the only real honorable one in the film; stealing every scene he's in.

Although those who shy away from violent films might not appreciate the amount of gore in 'Shura', anyone who enjoys Samurai movies, or a good revenge story, will likely be most pleased by the film. Beautifully shot by Tatsuo Suzuki and featuring commendable performances from all in the cast, there's a lot going for it. A strong narrative, deft direction- 'Shura' may be one of the best Samurai film noirs you'll ever see.

The only possible parallel I can furnish to position SHURA in the greater map of Japanese cinema is the last 20 minutes of that soul-destroying masterpiece Kihachi Okamoto directed in 1966, the indomitable SWORD OF DOOM. And even that comparison leaves a little something to be desired. Not only because SHURA is an exhausting 2+ hours of that same brooding sludge so thick you could slice it with a wakizashi, but also because, directed as it is by experimental guerilla rebel Toshio Matsumoto, it stands as a somewhat different beast from the general hobnob of genre cinema.

Woven of that same tragic almost Shakespearian fabric, with a protagonist who like Ryunosuke Tsukue in SWORD OF DOOM finds himself doomed to walk the path of demons in a downward spiral into madness and despair, SHURA is as bleak dark and hopeless a jidaigeki as was ever execrated and sealed from man and beast on celluloid. Unlike Ryunosuke Tsukue, however, who starts on the Great Buddha Mountain Pass and slowly cuts his way into his own private hell, Gengobe in SHURA starts in that private hell and plunges himself deeper in depths of the soul unknown. The movie opens with Gengobe hunted in pitch black by hovering lanterns held by unseen persecutors. He enters a house and finds a scene of carnage and mayhem, the floor strewn with mutilated bodies, limbs, others hanging dead from the ceiling. I told you it only starts there.

The movie itself exists in a hopeless purgatory. No establishing shots of anything. No daytime. The passage of time signaled with intertitles. The occasional external shot, a patch of gravel road, the frontside of a house, offers no relief, no room for breath, because it reminds us that there are no horizons or depth for the eye to rest. Everything was probably shot on soundstages with only a few lights strategically placed hither and thither, no doubt a lingering remnant of kabuki theater from which Japanese cinema has borrowed heavily. With no broader world to be measured against, the interiors and the story that takes place inside and the characters that breathe and walk and double-cross and slaughter each other in them, all seem to hover suspended in absolute suffocating darkness and everlasting night.

The title really says it all. The Ashuras, a rank of lower demigods in Buddhism, are meant to reflect the mental state of a human being obsessed with force and violence, always looking for an excuse to get into a fight, angry with everyone and unable to maintain calm or solve problems peacefully.

It's not only cynic or tragic as the best of jidaigekis usually are, it's positively bleak and unremitting. That shots and entire scenes repeat themselves automaton-like, first taking place inside the protagonist's anguished mind and then reality, only serves to reinforce the existential phlegm through which SHURA wades waist-deep for two hours. The atmosphere is so oppressing that questions of clunky expositional dialogue such as the characters often spout ("this is your wife's head" says a character while brandishing said head in plain sight) and theatrical exaggerated acting are rendered almost meaningless.

The story is still good, gripping, engrossing, as classic and plain and stripped of all fat as the best jidaigekis usually are, with a limited cast and sets that hint at the stageplay origins of the script, but in the end it's the overarching feeling of despair that stays with you. A movie so much of its time and place, almost impossible to even think of it as coming from anywhere else than Japan of the late 60's-early 70's, that will by its very nature appeal only to a limited audience. If you came this far and liked what you read then you're probably ready to brave SHURA. Beware all who enter. There is real cacodemonia here.

A strangely hypnotic and violent tale of greed, betrayal and revenge, this tale is a masterclass in cinematography and lighting. In fact, this has to be among the best lit films I have ever seen. Set designs are minimal and intersting and so is the story and it manages to hold the attention pretty nicely. The middle section of the film is a bit slow and that could have been worked on but otherwise it's good. The twist at the end works well. All in all, a pretty masterful work of art and a very underrated piece of samurai cinema.

I don't know that there's anything in this movie which blew me away, but there was also nothing which bothered me either. I suppose the plot is a fairly straightforward revenge story, but the stylistic elements of the film were more than enough to save the film. For instance, I liked the usage of darkness and shadows in several scenes. I don't know if I can quite put my finger on why those elements work, but something about seeing various characters appear/disappear from the shadows gives the film a dreamy aesthetic. I also liked how certain scenes were repeated. Through these scenes, you get a sense of Gengobei imagining how he wants to behave in certain situations or how some of the violence he commits or witnesses it etched into his head. These scenes also cause the film to become a subjective experience which puts you in Gengobei's headspace really well. Finally, the high level of violence also surprised me. While certain elements like the slow motion and the (relatively) high levels of blood help in this regard, that most of the deaths are prolonged gives them even more staying power. All things considered, this is definitely the most violent classic samurai film I've seen. As I said at the start of this review, I wouldn't say this film blew me away, but I do have a lot of respect for the film's technical qualities. It's a stylistically impressive take on the revenge film which is so unique with its craft that you eventually stop caring about its somewhat barebones plot.