foxfirebrand

The question of this movie's lack of action scenes has come up, and the point was made that the movie works as a "tutorial" or history lesson. Well, if that's the case, poetic license goes out the window and the movie must be judged more stringently on one central criterion-- does it get the facts right.

As history has sorted things out, serious questions have arisen about Halsey's competence at Guadalcanal, and the consensus seems to be that he was found wanting. The greatest tactical error he made was in falling for a Japanese ruse, and sending his main force on a long chase northward, away from the scene where the actual battle unfolded.

I know a movie made in 1960 can't be expected to emphasize a "hero's" shortcomings, but the issue did come up in 1944, and Nimitz seriously considered whether Halsey should remain in command of his battle group. That deliberation was well known, and its omission was a deliberate choice by the movie makers.

In 1960 sanitized biographies of war heroes was par for the course-- to take a "warts and all" approach would've distinguished this film and, I believe, made it a better one.

This comment about the "Samurai Trilogy" starts on the page for Miyamoto Musashi (Samurai I). My first viewing of the second episode was memorable because I got to take the train into town all by myself, and view it in a Tokyo theater. The first episode had just been shown on base, in a sort of cultural exchange, and my parents saw it and were pleasantly non-outraged-- I was a 9-year-old samurai-movie addict, and they believed enthusiasm beyond a certain intensity should be curbed. It was the same conflict as comic books some few years earlier. Technicolor was a big deal back then, especially in Japan, and it became the issue on which my viewing of "swordfighting movies" was decided-- the ones in color were historical films worth viewing, and even had something to teach. The black-and-white ones shown in Irumagawa and surrounding villages-- I had to sneak off to see. Ichijoji no Ketto (Duel at Ichijoji Temple) shows Miyamoto-san's achievements, while barring no holds on the issue of what they cost him. The romantic subplot continues, though its development in the western sense (toward union, wedded bliss) is thwarted at every turn. The issue is always a conflict between love and duty, and each deferment of gratification spells out a new step in the redefinition of the national character that is being mapped here. Again, some of the importance of all this is lost, even to modern Japanese audiences for whom the issues are long settled-- at the time, though, they were cliffhangers. A new character is introduced, Kojiro Sasaki who will emerge in part 3 as a rival for Musashi-- his equal except for certain features in their respective character. By the way, the score is excellent and haunting-- it extends like a symphony through all three parts, and has a leitmotif "hook" that will cause your ears to pick up in recognition, perhaps years from now, when you hear it again.

This is the third part of a comment on The "Samurai Trilogy," following those on the pages for Miyamoto Musashi (Samurai I) and Ichijoji no Ketto (Samurai II). Ketto Genryujima (Duel at Genryu Island) can be seen as part 1 come full cycle, as the young Kojiro seeks validation through a confrontation in arms with Musashi. In fact this is mostly his movie in spite of Mifune's top billing, and Musashi's love interest Otsu is likewise partially eclipsed by her rival and foil Akemi and her machinations. The climactic finish is deferred many times, but each bit of side action comes forth with a sense of necessity, and its ethical principle is illustrated in a way that comes naturally from the context, and is not imposed with a didactic tone. By the time the duel happens, both participants have grown as men-- appreciative of the grand scheme of things, humbled by the small part they play, and respectful of each other. We do see the hateful side of the "bad guy," but such glimpses are then followed by an honorable act of some sort, or by evidence that he has reflected on his methods, and come to see a better way he should've followed. Inagaki's films, especially these three, have always been the best-regarded of the "classy" samurai movies-- I lived in Japan during the time these films were made, and I can tell you there were plenty of "trashy" ones! Today's pulp doesn't hold a candle. However seriously these films were taken in Japan, in the west there's been a tendency to pigeonhole them as samurai flicks, and the trilogy is only recently being seen as one major work, though I've still yet to see it shown all at once, as a single entity. Why that is, I'll never know, as the whole thing is uniform in quality, and the parts work as an epic accumulation as well as they stand on their own. The first episode did win the Oscar for best Foreign-language film, but interest in the rest of the trilogy was sporadic-- the films were issued and re-issued under generic-sounding names over the years, and when spoken of together it was in an off-putting way, simply as Samurai 1, 2 and 3. But Inagaki's masterpiece is the capstone of a distinguished career that began in the prewar silent era, and though he was deemed too "Japanese" and too specialized in Bushido culture and the prewar past by western critics, this work transcends all those inapt criticisms and is very satisfying fare to native and foreign viewer alike-- I am delighted to present the intact trilogy in support of these claims. (Look for it on YouTube, on the cuFFBlinks channel).