Seven
Samurai
(1954)
(SPOILERS) Hugely
influential classics such as Seven
Samurai are so well covered and thoroughly examined, there’s scarcely
anything left to say about them. That being the case, I may as well begin with
a negative: those influenced, including those remaking the film in inevitably
inferior fashion, have been well-advised not
to imitate its running time. Really, good as the picture is, Akira Kurosawa had
no business making it three and a half hours long. It isn’t that it drags horribly
(it doesn’t), but it’s so studiously unhurried that the indulgences are
extra-obvious, and, while I would never condone cutting a movie against its
maker’s wishes, I can quite understand why the scissors were pulled out in this
case.
Nevertheless,
it’s quite easy to see why this was the director’s favourite of his films, and
why it remains his most popularly acclaimed (all those votes on IMDB can’t be
wrong; don’t tread the message boards if you too think it’s a little on the
extended side, though – although, the inadvisability
of posting comments probably applies to any movie there, unless you’re a
masochist). On the positive side, the luxurious running time affords us ample
time to get to know not only each of the seven, albeit some better than others
(none are mere faces, though), but also insights into the attitudes of the
villagers they vowed to protect; often petty-minded and vindictive, they are
borne into a caste system they have no option but to endure (in a particularly
chilling scene, an elderly village woman forks a captured bandit to death in
vengeance for the murder of her son).
Notably,
the bandits are almost entirely
indistinct, save for the sensible decision at the outset to save their plundering
until post-harvest. As such, the picture could perhaps have more clearly
established that the distinctions (or lack thereof) the villages make between
bandits and samurai are partly based on the two intertwining (that many a
disenfranchised ronin would turn to banditry to support himself), even given
Kikuchiyo’s memorable outburst concerning samurai leaving him an orphan.
The most indelible
of the seven is, of course, Kikuchiyo, thanks to Tohsiro Mifune’s gusto-driven
performance as the wannabe samurai who repeatedly proves how at odds with the
reserve and discipline of the warrior (Kikuchiyo is out of his gourd early on,
and in an amusing introductory scene is unsuspectingly bashed on the head by Katsushiro;
all the other candidates have been wise to his hiding in wait far in advance).
Mifune said it was his favourite role, and it’s certainly a tour de force of
unbridle energy, almost exhaustingly so.
It’s also
interesting, given how influential this is, that the loudmouthed braggart who
ends up as the most identifiably heroic character (if not the soundest of
judgment) has been diluted in later incarnations. The latest would be Chris
Pratt in The Magnificent Seven
remake, but there’s never any doubt about his skillset. It’s Kickuchiyo who
ploughs on after being shot, running the chief bandit through, but early on we
keep expecting the character to be run off, or proved a coward; at very least, to continue as a permanent joke ("You're so special, I represented you by a triangle" he is told of a banner in which the samurai are signified by circles). Hollywood isn’t
generally inclined to go quite so far off the straight and narrow, even when in
full blown anti-hero mode.
Other highlight performances include Takshi Shimura’s leader Kambei, shining with moral rectitude and
wisdom, but also a quiet sense of humour (also amusing is how diligently he marks
off the progressive body count on his chart), and Seiji Miyaguchi’s
ultra-serious-minded Kyuzo, who allows himself a rare smile, when no one else
is looking, after the permanently bedazzled Katsushiro has effusively praised
his amazing skills again (“You really are
great, Kyuzo”). Then there’s Kato Daisuke’s perma-smiley Shichiroji. Isao
Kimuro also makes an impression as Katsushiro, although that may be because he’s
given the most screen time, even more than Mifune; his tentative romance does
rather go on.
It’s an
inoffensive plotline, what with his frolicking amongst the flowers with Shino
(Keiko Tsushima), but begins to feel repetitive when her father (Kamatari
Fujiwara) starts wailing on at her the for the umpteenth time. A lot of that is
down to Fujiwara’s one note, extreme-pitched performance, though. The coda, in
which Shino rejects Katushiro to celebrate planting crops with her fellow
villagers, emphasises the lonely lives the samurai lead (albeit reinforcing
their nobility) and that, as Kambei notes, “The
victory belongs to the farmers, not us”.
The bandits rock up with about an hour to go,
which gives some idea of the extended running time, and Kurosawa’s
rain-drenched action remains highly impressive. Earlier, we’ve witnessed a
masterful first taste of his skilled staging when Kambei takes down a thief who
erupts from a hut in slow motion (Roger Ebert has suggested this sequence is
the basis for the hero being introduced in a signature, self-contained subplot,
such as Dirty Harry, and that’s easy
to go with), but the sustained carnage is something else. It’s notable too how
much the combined martialling of the villagers contributes to the victory;
while this element has remained in later versions, the focus has been
appreciably more on the role of the seven.
Admittedly,
I’m not hugely au fait with Kurosawa’s oeuvre, a scandalous omission I keep itending
to remedy, but it’s immediately obvious that George Lucas’ indebtedness in
respect of Star Wars (notably co-opting
C-3PO and R2-D2’s roles from the peasants in The Hidden Fortress) extends to Seven
Samurai, which he has also cited as his favourite film. Name the protocol
droid does this weary reflection, by a Seven
Samurai villager, sounds like: “We
were born to suffer. It’s our fate”?
Agree? Disagree? Mildly or vehemently? Let me know in the comments below.
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