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| Tokyo Drifter |
TOKYO DRIFTER and BRANDED TO KILL (Suzuki, 1966 and 1967)
Criterion Collection, Blu-ray, Release Date Dec 13, 2011
Review by Christopher S. Long
(Yesterday, word broke that Seijun
Suzuki had passed away on Feb 13 at the age of 93. I originally wrote
this dual review on the occasion of Criterion's Blu-ray re-releases
of two Suzuki titles from the early days of the Collection, “Tokyo
Drifter” and “Branded to Kill,” probably his two best-known
films. It appears that re-watching both Suzuki joints inspired me to
a more playful mood. Which sure sounds right to me.)
Seijun Suzuki doesn't often do
establishing shots, and when he does they don't establish shit.
Transitions? Listen, buddy, every cut is a transition of some kind
and it's not Suzuki's fault if you can't follow it. Match cuts? Kind
of you to ask, but as one killer in “Tokyo Drifter” (1966) says
to another, “Because you were kind, you'll have to go to hell!”
I exaggerate a bit, but let's just say
that seamless continuity isn't a priority for Suzuki and, also, I
wasn't exaggerating at all.
One of the greatest pleasures of
watching a Seijun Suzuki's best films is the comforting knowledge
that you cannot possibly know what image you're going to see next. A
killer preparing for his climactic showdown with the enemy may
suddenly decide to bounce a balloon around his apartment. Two may men
may suddenly walk into a bathroom locked arm-in-arm. A car chase
begins and before you've figured out who's driving or if there's even
another car involved in the chase, it's already over and we're back
at the nightclub. Are those two gunmen engaged in a shootout to the
death or are they just two guys who happen to like guns? Are they
even in the same town? Screen geography, in Dude-speak, is just,
like, you opinion, man, and when Seijun Suzuki wants your opinion,
he'll tell you what it is. And you still might not understand. But
you'll love every second of it.
Unless you don't. One of the more
irritating aspects of watching Seijun Suzuki's best films is the
discomforting knowledge that you cannot possibly know what image
you're going to see next. The barrage of disorienting, off-kilter
compositions can lead to sensory overload and exhaustion exacerbated
by the lack of the familiar guideposts provided by more traditionally
and coherently structured narratives. I sometimes wonder if Suzuki
could have made the greatest 60-minute films of all-time. Not that he
dawdles - “Tokyo Drifter” clocks in at a brisk 82 minutes, and
“Branded to Kill” (1967) at just 91 – but his Red-Bull-charged
cinema can lead to a nasty crash and burn, a deflationary death by a
thousand little catharses, so be careful not to overdose. Unless you
want to.
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| Branded to Kill |
“Tokyo Drifter” and “Branded to
Kill” represent Suzuki at his creative peak. He had made a name for
himself furiously cranking out three or four B-movies per year at
Japan's Nikkatsu Studios in the late '50s and early '60s, drawing
particular attention after the success of increasingly kinetic and
violent films like “Youth of the Best” (1963) and “Gate of
Flesh” (1964). As Suzuki's creative control over his project grew
so did his penchant for formal, genre-bending experimentation, and so
did the studio's frustration with a director it couldn't easily
pigeonhole or comfortably market. Can't you just make us a nice,
normal movie?
Sorry, Mr. Studio Executive, I'm afraid
you'll have to go to hell! Suzuki kept exploring previously uncharted
stylistic territory, skirting the boundary between commercial and
avant-garde (with a bullet), until “Branded to Kill” proved to be
a breaking point for Nikkatsu. The studio chose to rid itself of this
troublesome director, canning Suzuki for alleged insubordination,
upbraiding him for his “incomprehensible” films, leading to a
protracted legal battle and a decade-long blacklist that terminated
the most prolific part of Suzuki's career, though he would gamely
bounce back with a few late-career gems, my favorite being his
underrated tour-de-force “Pistol Opera” (2001).
“Tokyo Drifter” and “Branded to
Kill” are sometimes thought of as a paired unit, though they are
actually radically different films, the first a neon-jazz color
explosion. Both offer bare-bones distillation of yakuza plots. The
main character in “Tokyo Drifter” (Tetsuya Watari) becomes an
underworld target while staying loyal to his master; the protagonist
in “Branded to Kill” (Joe Shishido, a Suzuki regular) is
currently the third-best assassin in Japan (apparently they keep
meticulous rankings) and he'll do anything to move up the charts, but
finds it difficult to climb the rankings after he screws up a job.
Also he really, really likes to sniff boiling rice.
But enough about the plot and the
characters and other irrelevant nonsense. Suzuki's best films are
about outrageous set designs, endless fracturing of the visual field,
frames nested within frames, and maddeningly repeated audio cues.
Pure audiovisual pleasure, if that's your definition of pleasure.
Suzuki's “discovery” by non-Japanese audiences took far too long,
but once cinephiles around the globe started mainlining him, they
also discovered there was nowhere else to get a fix quite as potent.
Plenty of viewers first got hooked with either “Tokyo Drifter” or
“Branded to Kill” and not a one has ever regretted the decision.
Video:
Criterion's SD releases of “Tokyo
Drifter” and “Branded to Kill” way back in another century were
two of their more disappointing efforts. The details aren't worth
going into nearly twenty years later, but at this point they only
qualify as collector's items or for “emergency viewing only.” The
2011 Blu-ray upgrades both represent massive improvements. For one
thing, they're both 2.35:1 anamorphic transfers, like they're
supposed to be!
Brighter, whiter colors in the new
high-def “Tokyo Drifter”still look like they “bleed” a little
bit, but the color arrangements in the film are so audacious and over
the top, it's hard to judge exactly how accurate this transfer is.
Let's just say it's wild, man. And a whole lot more vivid than the
old SD. The black-and-white image in “Branded to Kill” has a lot
more depth and detail than the old SD (it's nowhere close) though
there are still a few modest signs of print source damage evident in
a few places. But nothing troubling.
Audio:
Both films get LPCM mono mixes, and
both sound a bit thin and tinny, perhaps because they were meant to
in the first place. The “haunted” sound of some of the effects in
“Branded to Kill” is actually quite effective. Optional English
subtitles support the Japanese audio for both films.
Extras:
Tokyo Drifter:
Criterion has imported a March 1997
interview with Suzuki (20 min.) from the old SD release. It was
recorded at the Nuart Theater in Los Angeles during a retrospective
of the director's work, and it's quite engaging. Suzuki exhibits a
pragmatic streak, speaking more about business matters than creative
decisions, though he is justifiably pleased to speak about how
important it is for the director to be the only person who knows what
to expect in a film.
Criterion also presents a newer
interview with Suzuki and assistant director Masami Kuzuu (2011, 12
min.) in which they discuss the production of “Tokyo Drifter.”
Suzuki is on oxygen during the interview, but is still quite sharp
and entertaining. A Trailer (3 min.) is also included.
The 1999 SD had slim liner notes by
critic Manhola Dargis. The 2011 re-release comes with a 12-page
insert booklet featuring as essay by critic Howard Hampton.
Branded to Kill:
The extras are similar to the ones on
Tokyo Drifter. Another excerpt from Suzuki's Nuart interview (14
min.) is imported from the 1999 SD. The disc also includes a newer
interview with Suzuki and Masami Kuzuu (2011, 12 min.) and a newer
interview with star Joe Shishido (2011, 11 min.) A Trailer (3 min.)
is also included.
Missing from the old 1999 SD is a
Poster Gallery from the collection of composer John Zorn who also
wrote the slim liner notes for that release. Those notes have been
replaced in the 2011 release with a chunkier 16-pager insert booklet
featuring an essay by critic, filmmaker, and festival programmer Tony
Rayns.
Final Thoughts:
There was nobody quite like Seijun
Suzuki. And there never will be.
