Seven Samurai

Seven Samurai

ADVENTURE:

Japan, 1954

1956-11-19

3:27

NR (Violence, Sexual Situations)

1.33:1

Takashi Shimura, Toshiro Mifune, Isao Kimura, Daisuke Kato, Minoru Chiaki, Seiji Miyaguchi, Yoshio Inaba, Keiko Tsushima, Yoshio Tsuchiya, Kamatari Fujiwara

Akira Kurosawa

Akira Kurosawa, Shinobu Hashimoto, Hideo Oguni

Asakazu Nakai

Fumio Hayasaka

Columbia Pictures

English subtitled Japanese

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The most popular cinematic export from Japan is inarguably the samurai movie. Whole books have been devoted to the genre, and more than one mail-order video business has made a tidy profit shipping samurai tapes and DVDs around the world. The most important samurai movie is Akira Kurosawa's 1954 feature,

Seven Samurai

, which not only impacted the way the genre was viewed, but elevated its status.

Seven Samurai

was influential not only in Japan and for foreign film enthusiasts, but it led to a popular and reasonably faithful remake,

The Magnificent Seven

. And, although Japanese critics during the '50s were dismissive of the picture, it has since achieved an almost mythical status and was recently selected by a group of '00 critics as the Best Japanese Movie of All-Time.

Curiously, for a feature that is often viewed as the standard-bearer of the samurai movie,

Seven Samurai

is actually an atypical genre entry. An "average" samurai film focuses on a sword-wielding, superhero-type individual who battles his way through the story, often triumphing over a seemingly overwhelming host of foes.

Seven Samurai

offers us flawed protagonists, some of whom are not skilled fighters, and one of whom is often drunk, belligerent, and decidedly non-heroic in his approach. The odds are impressive, yet, in large part due to the melancholy tone adopted by Kurosawa during the closing scene, the victory is hollow, and almost feels like a defeat. (The lead samurai's final words: "So. Again we are defeated. The farmers have won. Not us.")

Seven Samurai

is richly deserving of its high place in cineaste circles. Despite its epic length and scope, the key to the movie's success is that it focuses on a small group of characters. (The actual number of fully realized individuals is three, not seven ? several of the "secondary" samurai are only sketchily developed.) The narrative is straightforward, allowing numerous opportunities for elaborate action sequences. In fact, the bulk of the movie's second half is comprised of battle scenes. These are clearly delineated and exactingly choreographed. Kurosawa, a meticulous craftsman, does not rely on editing sleight-of-hand to present fights. His stylistic imprint is emblazoned upon every frame. (

Seven Samurai

was filmed with a 1.33:1 aspect ratio. For a sample of what Kurosawa accomplish in widescreen, check out some of his later films, starting with

Hidden Fortress

.)

Those familiar with the narrative of

The Magnificent Seven

will recognize the storyline for

Seven Samurai

. In order to shoehorn

Seven Samurai

's 3 1/2 hours of material into

The Magnificent Seven

's two hours, condensation was mandated. Two of

Seven Samurai

's lead characters were combined to form a single individual in

The Magnificent Seven

. For the most part, however, the basics were left intact. After viewing American remake, Kurosawa reportedly remarked that he was pleased with the effort, going so far as to send a gift to filmmaker John Sturges, who helmed the 1960 feature.

Seven Samurai

tells the tale of a 16th century Japanese farm community that, led by a band of seven warriors, defends itself against a gang of pillaging robbers. When several of the village's men, lead by a hot-head named Rikichi (Yoshio Tsuchiya), grow weary of the annual raids of the bandits, they decide to act. Since the citizens do not have the martial ability or skill to fight, Rikichi seeks mercenary samurai who are willing to defend the settlement in return for food and lodging. The seven men who accompany Rikichi home are a diverse lot. They include the sage Kambei (Takashi Shimura), a great leader of men; Kikuchiyo (Toshiro Mifune), a burly clown whose prowess with a sword does not match his arrogance; Kyuzo (Seiji Miyaguchi), a quiet master swordsman who lets his weapon speak for him; and young Katsushiro (Isao Kimura), who idolizes Shichiroji and Kambei. Also in the party are Heihachi (Minoru Chiaki), Shichiroji (Daisuke Kato), and Gorobei (Yoshio Inaba). After teaching the men of the town how to fight and preparing the village for its defense (building fences, flooding the rice fields, and tearing down a bridge), the seven samurai await the inevitable coming of the 40-odd bandits and the battle that will determine the peasants' future.

The film is divided into three sections. The first features the gathering of the protectors, as each samurai is given an introduction.

Seven Samurai

was the first film to use this approach; it has been copied often in the five decades since Kurosawa completed the movie. This portion of the picture is essentially set-up, but it's crucial to defining the characters and their relationships. The longest introduction belongs to Kikuchiyo, who initially appears as a drunken buffoon, then later proves to be more resourceful than any of his future companions expected.

Seven Samurai

's second segment encompasses the preparations for battle. During this portion of the film, the protectors are introduced to the farmers. In addition to fortifying the settlement and teaching the men how to use weapons, a form of bonding occurs. Kikuchiyo becomes a favorite of the village children, and they follow him around. Katsushiro begins a romance with a local girl, Shino (Keiko Tsushima), who willingly offers herself to the samurai despite the dishonor such a liaison would bring upon her and her family. Being in the village also brings back troubling memories for Kikuchiyo, whose past remains shrouded from his fellows.

The third section is the battle for the village, with the bandits attacking in waves. There's also a pre-emptive strike attempted by the samurai, who raid the bandits' camp before they ride to the village. The bandits have two advantages over their intended prey ? they are mounted and they are in possession of three guns. Despite being difficult to load and fire and notoriously unreliable, those weapons represent a significant advantage, and the samurai realize that the key to victory may be stealing at least one of the guns from their enemies. (Nearly all of the early significant casualties are the result of men being shot.)

Although

Seven Samurai

is an ensemble picture, no star shines brighter than Kurosawa's favorite actor, Toshiro Mifune. His Kikuchiyo is larger-than-life. Mifune is given an opportunity to show his range here, playing a stumbling drunk; a playful clown who delights in the company of children; a dark, brooding man who reflects on his unhappy past; and a terrifying fighter who cannot be slowed or stopped. Veteran Takashi Shimura, another frequent Kurosawa collaborator, is the voice of wisdom, reason, and patience as Kambei. The actor presents his character as a man who commands respect through his mere presence. Kambei's coolness is in direct contrast with Kikuchiyo's flamboyance. The third major samurai is Katsushiro. Isao Kimura portrays him with a mixture of energy and naïveté, then blends in a growing sense of somber realization as he recognizes that battle is not all glory.

Of the remaining four samurai, only Seiji Miyaguchi's Kyuzo stands out as memorable, primarily because he is so different from his fellows. Quiet and withdrawn, he is a serious individual who speaks primarily with his sword. Miyaguchi portrays him as an honorable, unsmiling loner. The other three are largely interchangeable until the third or fourth viewing of the film, when their personalities begin to emerge. Of the villagers, only Yoshio Tsuchiya's impulsive Rikichi, Kamatari Fujiwara's dour Manzo, and Keiko Tsushima's sultry Shino gain any real individuality. The bandits are portrayed from a distance; we don't get to know any of them (although we learn their motives ? they are as hungry as the villagers).

One of the most intriguing sequences occurs as Kambei plans the defense of the village. Using a map of the environs, he explains how the enemy will likely approach and what he intends to do to impede them. By including this scene, Kurosawa ensures that we understand the layout of the village and the plans of the samurai, so that when the battle begins, we have an understanding of how landmarks relate to each other. James Cameron employs a similar approach in

Titanic

when, in the "present" sequences, he uses computer graphics to show what happened to the ship as it broke up so that, when we see it happen, we comprehend what is transpiring.

In many ways,

Seven Samurai

is defined by its style. Kurosawa doesn't just set marks and coach actors; he composes scenes. Despite its drawbacks (a lack of "three dimensionality"), he frequently uses the "deep focus" camera technique to keep everyone in focus, regardless of their distance from the lens. He rarely resorts to close-ups, and, when he does, there's a specific reason. His battle scenes are realistic, but not confusing. Whenever possible, he captures the seven samurai in the same shot. (This is emphasized at the end, when the survivors are shown in the same frame as the graves of the dead.) On more than one occasion, he shoots figures silhouetted against the horizon.

Over the span of his career, Kurosawa made so many great films that it can be difficult to determine which is his best. For most critics, the finalists would be

Rashomon

and

Seven Samurai

? films with more differences than similarities.

Rashomon

is the more thought-provoking of the two, but

Seven Samurai

is a grand epic ? a big, splashy motion picture that runs well over three hours and never flags. The intermission is almost superfluous; we are so caught up in the story that, by the time it arrives, it's more of a nuisance than a welcome break.

Seven Samurai

has the kind of momentum that many long movies lack. Despite its length, it is a perfect example of economy ? there isn't a single wasted shot.

Seven Samurai

is an unforgettable masterpiece ? the work of one of the world's greatest filmmakers at the height of his powers.

“It Takes Two” is a tolerably passable princess-and-the-pauper comedy starring Hollywood’s newest stripling stars, Olsen twins Mary-Kate and Ashley. Set in and around New York City, the smokescreen is beside matching 9-year-old strangers. Alyssa, who lives with her father, cell phone millionaire Roger Callaway (Steve Guttenberg), is a piano sensation with the manners of a countess. Amanda is a gum-smacking, foulmouthed tomboy who lives in an orphanage beneath the charge of Diane Barrow (Kirstie Alley), a immense-hearted and awfully single social breadwinner.

Written by Deborah Dean Davis in the banal, plastic style of a network sitcom, the movie picks up when Amanda (Mary-Kate) and the other orphans are about to travel upstate to Camp Callaway, a summer retreat built by the late Mrs. Callaway.

At the same time, Alyssa (Ashley) is returning from school to the family mansion across the lake. There, Alyssa receives a brutal shock: Her precious father is engaged to marry the shallow, patrician Clarice (Jane Sibbett), who intends to dump her stepdaughter in a boarding school and keep Daddy all to herself.

It’s immediately clear where the story is going—it’s inevitable that the girls are going to meet, change places and conspire to knock Daddy’s fiancee out of the box and replace her with a more desirable mate—namely, Diane. If she could, Diane would adopt Amanda herself. However, because she is poor and unmarried, public services won’t even consider it.

And Diane is hardly a blushing romantic, but when it comes to choosing a husband, she intends to hold out for the real deal—what she calls the “can’t eat, can’t sleep, over the fence, World Series sort of thing.”

That Diane could conjure up such feelings for Roger undermines her credibility. Alley has had some bum movie projects since leaving “Cheers,” but her loose, self-deprecating style here is enormously winning—she’s fun. Guttenberg, though, seems less like a movie star than a game show host. It’s like having Alex Trebek as your romantic lead.

With their perilously wide, Walter Keane eyes, the Olsen twins are cute enough, but compared with other child performers their charms seem forced. And director Andy Tennant doesn’t have the style to disguise their inadequacies or, for that matter, to spring a decent gag.

It Takes Two is rated PG.

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Peter Miller’s labor-of-caress docu on arguably the most notorious miscarriage of justice of the 20th century, the convictions of Sacco and Vanzetti, does a superb responsibility of condensing an overwhelming collection of documentation, archival allusion and artistic figure into a laconic yet passionate history lesson whose relevance could not be timelier. In scarcely 81 minutes, Miller sketches the backstories of the two immigrant activists, illuminates the roiling political context of post-WWI America, exposes the discrimination of their nuisance and captures the astounding worldwide answer to the envelope. Docu, which opens today at Gotham’s Quad Cinema, merits wider theatrical attention.

Miller, longtime producer for Ken Burns and several less mainstream documentarians, and helmer of “The Internationale,” spent four years researching Nicola Sacco and Bartolomeo Vanzetti, and it shows in the trenchant clarity of his exposition. He efficiently delineates, in a few broad strokes, how the two men, from different backgrounds in Italy, were radicalized by the prejudice, exploitation and repression that were meted out to immigrant workers in America.

Miller excels at presenting a flow of newsreel-type images that stress the movement of masses of people. Whole “forgotten” swaths of American history rush by with black-and-white immediacy, stressing the dynamism of the period, and placing the bomb-tossing terrorism of Sacco and Vanzetti’s fellow anarchists in the context of violent class warfare: Red Squads, operating without warrants or due process, rounded up anyone vaguely suspicious for detention and/or deportation.

Whether either Sacco or Vanzetti was even slightly implicated in the killing of a guard during a botched robbery is apparently still a matter of debate, though Miller presents some compelling evidence of their innocence. That their trial was a travesty of justice, on the other hand, seems indisputable, given that Judge Webster Thayer advised the jury that Vanzetti should be found culpable, even if he did not commit the crime attributed to him, “because he is an enemy of our institutions.” Thayer also presided at all subsequent trials and appeals.

Miller captures the sheer scope of the global response and the passion with which people strove to believe in the ultimate triumph of justice through seven long years of futile appeals. Newsreels record the thousands of people who poured into the streets from London to Tokyo to protest the sentence and mourn the executions.

This passion still burns brightly among several talking-head historians who pop up in the docu, from venerable white-haired lefty Howard Zinn to younger crusaders whose emotional empathy extends beyond the men to their families. Woven throughout, and voiced by Tony Shalhoub and John Turturro, are the eloquent, impassioned letters of these oddly complementary idealists whose names are now eternally linked, though the two never knew each other especially well.

Tech credits are excellent. Amy Carey Linton’s editing rhythms and choices of black-and-white footage nicely counterpoint Stephen McCarthy’s crisp color lensing.