Sanjuro

Akira Kurosawa’s 1962 film Sanjuro is a tremendously enjoyable action-comedy led by a terrific performance (as usual) by Toshirō Mifune and a whole lot of clever fun. The movie is the sequel to 1961’s Yojimbo, a Kurosawa classic that starred Mifune as a wandering nameless ronin. Yojimbo was reflective of the early “Man with No Name” storylines, offering up a sort of antihero without a clear identity to step into a problem situation, solve it, and head on his merry way.

Sanjuro picks up our nomadic ronin (Mifune) in interesting fashion. In essence, Mifune’s character simply appears out of a side room during a critical opening scene in which a group of samurai discuss corruption in their clan. Kurosawa’s tale is based on Shūgorō Yamamoto’s short story Peaceful Days and deals with concepts of youthful exuberance as relates to patience and cleverness.

As the story unfolds, we start to learn that these nine young samurai misunderstand who the real mastermind behind the corruption is. They act hastily and are often saved by this mysterious ronin who has arrived to help them. The young samurai are divided as to what they think of this character, often electing to go about their own plans to discover the source of corruption and rescue the chamberlain (Yûnosuke Itô).

Along the way, there is a rescue of the chamberlain’s cheerfully unaware wife (Takako Irie) and daughter (Reiko Dan) that changes the entire dynamic of the crew thanks to their feminine influences. The two women take issue with the ronin’s use of violence to solve problems, for instance, and suggest an alternative to the traditional “burning down the house” signal that results in one of the movie’s funniest conversations.

Sanjuro is one of Kurosawa’s escapist films. It brims with vigour, clocks in at slightly over 90 minutes, and races with a brisk, oft-hilarious pace. Mifune makes everything work accordingly thanks to his captivating portrayal of the nameless ronin. His expressions are timeless, his energy is contagious, and his knack for napping while the nine samurai race around makes for some seriously funny sequences.

Kurosawa shoots his film flawlessly, as expected, and is effortlessly captures the geometry and beauty of various segments with glee. Kurosawa seems to take divine pleasure in shooting the formation of young samurai as they sit in a straight row and juxtaposing that with Mifune’s ronin as he slumps, snoozes, and slurs through the picture. It’s a compelling portrait of social order meeting, well, a guy who does whatever the hell he wants.

The music is especially noteworthy, too. Provided by Masaru Satô, there are some truly interesting and unique moments throughout the film’s score. When the nine samurai celebrate a certain breakthrough along with a captured enemy, for instance, the Satô offers bright horns playing a jaunty tune that certainly doesn’t belong in such a period piece. Other places feature extravagant, rolling strings while more understated pieces punctuate the film’s important moments.

Sanjuro is interesting not only because of its accessibility but because of its forceful juxtaposition and extravagance. When the ronin takes on the film’s final battle against Hanbei (Tatsuya Nakadai), there is an explosion of sudden bloodshed and violence that the rest of the movie lacked. Is this a symbol of some sort? What is Kurosawa illustrating about the violence at this point and time? Mifune’s ronin is not celebratory. Instead he suggests that he and his adversary are alike, telling the samurai that “the best sword stays in its sheath.” Indeed.

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