47 Ronin
(2013)
(SPOILERS) 47 Ronin
was pronounced D.O.A. well before it actually bombed at the box office. It’s
rare for critics to push against the tide and come out in support of such fare,
invariably because the warning signs of a troubled production tend to be an
accurate yardstick for the quality of the finished movie. And so, 47 Ronin was dutifully slaughtered. I’d
be hard-pressed to present the case that the picture is an unsung classic, a
masterpiece waiting to be re-discovered and re-appraised, but it has certainly
been given short shrift. As many column inches have gone into reviewing its
insane budget as the picture itself. There is much to enjoy in this beautifully
rendered, unusually solemn fantasy and its surprisingly reverent exploration of
the themes of honour and revenge. It’s easy to admire the strange beast
Universal threw their weight behind; a Japan-set Samurai tale featuring a
single Hollywood star (who, at best, sporadically vies for lead protagonist
duties) and a downbeat plot that only intermittently engages in the enormous
action spectacle the title promises. If 47
Ronin doesn’t quite fly as a hugely expensive art film, it is nevertheless
very far from your average blockbuster.
Given the rope afforded the movie (much of which was
second-guessed down the production line, leading to turmoil and delays), one
wonders that Universal didn’t go the whole hog and screen the picture in subtitled
Japanese. It couldn’t have done worse
at the box office, and it might even have garnered some cachet, along the lines
of Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon and Apocalypto. Reeves has said scenes were
shot in Japanese first to familiarise the cast (it didn’t help much; their English
is mostly starchy, although this broken formality isn’t completely at odds with
the mood of the piece), but I doubt the studio will be stumping up for a
different cut; not after the hit they took.
47 Ronin is just the
latest of half a dozen pictures based on the 18th century historical
account. As such one might expect less resistance to it manoeuvring from the
straight and narrow of the original tale, even when it goes as far as embracing
the magical trappings found here. After all, there remains embedded within the
picture an air of veneration for place and time and culture. Yet the response
in Japan was underwhelming, it seems because of perceived irreverence towards
the material and the common complaint of indiscriminate Hollywoodisation. Which
is entirely understandable, and legitimate, but isn’t automatically evidence of
artistic failure (The Last Samurai, a
lumpen tale of the white man showing the natives what honour is really all
about through being the greatest warrior evah,
was a huge hit in Japan but remains emblematic of the dubious white saviour trope).
In set up at least, Chris Morgan (the Fast and Furious franchise, so not the greatest harbinger of
resonant story telling; his original script was big on the Black List, although
that’s no indicator of anything either) and Hossein Amini (brought in for
rewrites; despite some impressive credits as the main adaptor, he has a patchy
record script doctoring the likes of Snow
White and the Huntsman) don’t stray too far from the original. Shogun
Tsunayoshi (Cary-Hiroyuki Tagawa) sentences Lord Asano (Min Tanaka) to fall by
suicide for attacking visiting Lord Kira (Tadanobu Asano exemplifying grinning
one-note villainy, not that he has many dramatic options). The Shogun forbids Asano’s
main counsellor Oishi (Hiroyuki Sanada, an increasingly familiar presence in
the US with appearances in Lost, The Wolverine and, yes, The Last Samurai), from taking revenge
and pronounces him and his men Ronin, masterless Samurai. Oishi orders his men
to take no action, recognising “If we
fight now we die” and that the repercussions for all those within Asano’s
lands will be terrible. Kira is granted Asano’s realm, and his daughter Mika’s
(Ko Shibasaki) hand in marriage, the latter to take place following a year’s
mourning, in order to bind the peace. Kira duly throw Oishi down a pit, releasing
him just prior to the nuptials (it’s unclear why Kira would let him go at all, less
still allow him to live, given how shamelessly monstrous he is). Chastened by
his failure and bent on revenge for his master’s death, Oishi sets out to
gather his Ronin for this task.
Loosely, very loosely, that conforms to the classic story.
But Keanu has also been impressed upon this template, and with him Asano’s
daughter Mika. Kai’s addition is bound to the picture’s supernatural element
too; Kira achieves his objectives through Mizuki (Rinko Kikuchi of Babel and Pacific Rim; she’s having as much of a ball being bad as Asano, but
to much better effect), a shape-shifting witch who sabotages events (she casts a
spell on Asano’s champion) and induces Asano to attack Kira by conjuring a vision
of Kira raping Mika (in the original, Asano loses his cool after being continually
provoked by Kira). Kai and Mizuki are therefore equal and opposite invented forces,
the conceits of a major studio with dreams of a fantasy film goldmine. The
introductory passage suggests a greater complement of Keanu than is ultimately
delivered; having “fled evil” Kai is
taken in by Asano. He grows up a lower class citizen, derided for his
half-Japanese half-English heredity (that Keanu, eh; who’d have thought it?);
we are also privy to the burgeoning love between Kai and Mika, of your classic
mismatched romance variety (“I’ve always
loved you but you have your place and I have mine”).
In these scenes, Keanu is set up as the man apart, subject
to revulsion from his peers (“I’d rather
have been killed by that beast than saved by a half-breed” spits Masayoshi
Haneda’s Yasuno, after Keanu saves him; of course, he will later proclaim his
indebtedness and how wrong he was) but with an insight into dangers that others
ignore (in particular, Oishi rejects his warnings of witchcraft, instead accusing
him of being a demon). When Kai tries to do the honourable thing (taking the
place of the champion in the duel) he is sentenced to death by the Shogun and
only saved through the intervention of Mizuki. So Kai suffers for his nobility,
nobility that puts the genuine Samurai to shame. This looks like it is paving
the way the for your classic white saviour figure but, while it’s undeniable
that Keanu gets all the coolest “Jedi” type moments, anyone hoping for a
Neo-redux will be disappointed. In terms of screen presence he’s more your
Morpheus.
The rejection of the half-breed has more than a whiff of western
holier-than-thou, on the outside looking in, but it is well placed as a subversion
of unconsidered mores and codes. The picture otherwise nurses an uncritical and
stoic devotion to (barmy) paths of honour. It is, because that’s the way it is.
Oishi explicitly shoulders the hero’s arc, not Kai; he must atone for his
mistakes, make things right. His error, as Kai impresses upon him when he is
released from slavery (although it looks very much as if he could release
himself anytime he wishes), is not listening to his warnings, which is rather
different from the historical account.
One of the criticisms of Oishi in the original story is that
he spends more than two years in preparation, not wholly in keeping with the warrior’s
code. 47 Ronin deals with this dealt
with deftly and succinctly by giving Oishi no choice in the matter; he is
imprisoned. An additional question mark hangs over the act of revenge itself;
the tale has been argued to best symbolise loyalty rather than bushido (the
samurai code of honour) per se, as revenge is not necessarily considered an
appropriate motivation for the samurai (much as George Lucas had misgivings
over the implications of the original title for Episode VI).
Despite there being 47, only two Ronin are presented with
any flesh on their bones, and one of those (Kai) isn’t even a Ronin. Maybe the
writers should just have added the 4 and 7 together for a more manageable
number, although Peter Jackson has recently been unable to surmount the
difficulties of distinguishing a baker’s dozen of dwarves. The only others of
note are the aforementioned Yasuno, Chikara (Jin Akinishi, as Oishi’s son,
released from suicide at the climax in order to continue the bloodline; let’s
hope he has a high sperm count) and fatty Ronin (there’s always one) Basho
(Takato Yonemoto).
Any failings of character apply across the board, however;
these figures are little more than silhouettes, imbued with poses rather than
depths of emotion. Oishi, as the leader, is granted the symbolic slaying of
Lord Kira, and his motivation holds the only real weight, but the really memorable
stuff goes to Keanu. There’s the fight with a giant at the sort of merchant
port one might expect to meet Captain Jack. Later, Kai swiftly dispenses with a
handful of Kira’s men while the other Ronin look on agape. Elsewhere there is a
little more balance, but Oisihi’s thematically important moments still cannot
compete with Kia’s cool moves, The need for weaponry leads the assembled
warriors to Kai’s old haunt of the Tengu Forest (“You will find swords in the Sea of Trees”), where Kai must face the
Tengu Master (voiced by Togo Igawa) who trained him. It’s an expertly staged and
edited sequence, where Kai is called upon to use the magical powers he
foreswore while Oishi is required (Luke in the Dagobah tree-like) to resist
drawing his sword even when beset by visions of his men dying. So too, the
climax. Oishi delivers the showdown with Kira, but Kai gets the more expansive
and satisfying fight with Mizuki.
Keanu is looking as uncannily young as ever, despite having
just turned 50. Okay, this started filming way back in 2011, but it’s tempting
to think he and Johnny Depp must be attending the same Fountain of Youth.
Perhaps, like Kai, he has an occult past. I’m a fan of Reeves, although it
would be ludicrous to suggest he hasn’t been dreadfully miscast on more than
one occasion. Here he is a good fit, despite the obvious point about him not being
remotely Japanese; all containment, reserve, respectfulness and typically
inscrutable expressions. The love story packs no punch, but that also fits the
subdued emotional tone; I may be arguing too strongly for flaws as merits, but
it would be misplaced to have the romance any more foregrounded. Reportedly,
the reshoots that occurred a year after the picture wrapped boosted Reeves’
presence through close-ups and an added love scene; these elements don’t feel
especially intrusive although a parting shot like “I will search for you through a 1,000 worlds and 10,000 lifetimes until
I find you” would only pack any weight if we really cared about their
doomed love (it’s hardly, “Stay alive! I
will find you!”, but then the dialogue across the board is singularly
unmemorable) Notably, Mika’s suggestion that “All that we can ask is that we leave having loved and been loved”
is exactly not what this band’s code
of honour would hold dear.
The script, by some lengths the least of the picture’s
qualities, follows a straightforward linear through line of banishment, escape,
gathering, arming and retribution (there’s a flashback or two, too; you’ve got
to explain Keanu, right?) With a coda of tragedy/honorific sacrifice on top.
Who knows what the original cut looked like (or if there was one), although the
struggles with Universal, which may or may not have seen debutant Carl Rinsch
locked out of the editing room, don’t transparently display the lasting scars
that, say, the similarly fractious big budget initiation of a young David
Fincher left on Alien 3. I compare
the two as Rinsch was attached to what became Prometheus for a while.
Whether that would have been less thorny to make is debatable, but it
seems clear many wanted to cash in on the promise of The Gift (alternatively, the attention Rinsch got when he was
attached to the Alien prequel may
have piqued Universal’s interest).
It’s a dicey game studios never tire of,
throwing a huge amount of money at a filmmaker who has never tested themselves
on such a scale before. Then, of course, the suits have the temerity to demand changes when things don’t quite pan out as envisaged. In this case, and
arguably with Alien 3 too, the studio
got behind inherently anti-commercial material, at least in an obvious sense,
almost as if they were throwing money away wilfully. Perhaps they saw great
potential at the Japanese box office, but envisaging this as something akin to Lord of the Rings was only ever pie in
the sky. There were reports Rinsch favoured the content becoming ever more
Japanese, while the studio was of the reverse inclination (in their defence, if
that was his intent, he was very silly to shoot in English at all). And it was
their follow-the-herd stupidity, insisting on 3D, which caused the price to hit
the stratosphere.
There are occasional confusions in the edit, albeit not in
the action sequences themselves, as if a vital coverage has been lost and with
it the geographical sense of interacting characters. This is particularly
noticeable when Kai suddenly arrives to save Yasuno from the rampaging
creature; until he’s in the scene you
have no idea where he is in relation to it. Elsewhere, the unlikely conclusion drawn
by the enemy that a few corpses signal the end of the Ronin beggars belief
(this might simply be laid at the scriptwriters’ door, however). The inclusion
of the Blu-ray’s deleted scenes in the finished cut might also have helped
clarify some of the issues; Oishi’s sudden arrival at the port to release Kai
has an instructive introduction, and there’s an excellent excised sequence
where Mika attempts to poison Lord Kira.
Her character is so under-served that
the pruning feels even more injudicious; given the picture ducks just under two
hours, the scissors were probably out for anything tangential to the main
thrust with an eye on maximum cinema screenings per day. Stuart Baird’s credit as editor, something of
a renowned fix it man (and not such a great director) was surely an area in
which Rinsch had no say. There are still other signs of a messy rethink by the
studio; the voiceover introducing and ending the picture is a patronising
mistake. That it’s courtesy of ADR man Ron Bottitta, rather than an illustrious
Shakespearean type, is a sure indication that it resulted from studio nerves.
The joke is that meddling of this sort almost never results in improvements,
less still in financial success. In such cases the sensible response is surely
to cut your losses rather than throw more cash down the khazi.
Visually, however, Rinsch, in tandem with cinematographer
John Mathieson, has created a thing of beauty no amount of tampering can spoil.
This is a richly textured piece, filled with deep, vivid colours, and one that
uses the widescreen frame to its full luxuriant potential. Rinsch (or maybe
Baird) doesn’t become distracted with frenzied editing, and the action is
punctual and precise, deliberately not drawing scenes out beyond the point of
coherence and patience. There’s also so much dry ice (or its modern equivalent)
wafting about (I like dry ice!), you’d think Ridley made this in the mid-‘80s
(rather than the auto-filter and whip crack editing of Scott’s last decade or two).
Ilian Eshkeri’s score is effective enough, but not singularly memorable.
For a picture this costly, the CGI is noticeably variable.
The fabulous creatures and non-humans are never less than absent looking,
lacking physicality. On the other hand, everything about the rendering of
Mizuki’s (and Kai’s) powers works beautifully. Her fox alter-ego, gravity resisting
hair, matching the snake tendrils of the Medusa, floating across the ceiling of
Asano’s room (Variety reported Mizuki
was a later addition, but she’s easily one of the best aspects of the picture).
Overall, the effects work complements Rinsch’s images, but they are unable to match
his consistently sumptuous results.
It would be easy enough to fixate on the deficiencies with 47 Ronin; the characterisation; the
failure to invest the quest with sufficient zeal and urgency; the demands made of
a cast unaccustomed to English speaking; the derision-demanding presence of
Keanu. And yet, what is attempted here, the measured tone and the reserve, very
nearly work, pulled along by the immaculate design, staging and intent. A good indicator
of the picture’s merits is that such a humour free exercise doesn’t invite
mockery; rather there is respect for what it strives for and doesn’t quite
achieve. Rinsch has produced a strange, unusual, offbeat visual feast, one that
is distinctive and elaborate, filled with ornate imagery that exceeds the
perfunctory nature of the script. Like last year’s Oblivion, this is more visual masterpiece than out-and-out marvel.
But sometimes that’s enough. I don’t doubt Rinsch will make films in years to
come that more than match his stylistic abilities.
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