Stop me if I’ve told you this one
before (actually, don’t). I was the
youngest of six children. I grew up with
four brothers and a sister, all of whom loved nothing more than bedeviling
their chunky (and much cooler) baby brother.
If you recall from my story about Brigantine Castle, you’ll recall that
my family used to vacation in Long Beach Island, New Jersey every summer. On the main strip was, conceivably, my
favorite place in the whole, entire world: an arcade/snack shop which had the
single greatest video game ever created: Xevious. Adjacent to this pleasure palace was my
second favorite place in the whole, entire world: a trampoline park. For those who don’t know, these were places
where you could rent time to risk life and limb and bounce on a giant
trampoline. When your time was up, your
name was announced over a loud speaker, and you were invited to leave. Like last call at a bar, just without the
bouncers and alcohol and beer goggles.
Places like these have vanished; I’m sure due more to an increasingly
litigious society than to any actual physical danger to children.
At any rate, I used to love
Trampoline World (this particular park’s moniker, if memory serves), but of
course, I was too young to go there by myself.
This task of handling me fell to my brothers. One fiendishly clever day, they took me over
for my midday, spring-loaded constitutional, and I proceeded to go through my
routine, lost in that magical act of leaping.
As my time drew to a close, the loudspeaker crackled to life, “Pyew
Stinky on Six, Pyew Stinky on Six. Your
time is up.” Go ahead and guess what the
number of my trampoline was. Suffice to
say, I was miffed, nay, livid. But I got
over it. Had I been more aware at that
time of the usage of trampolines and the like in performing the acrobatics in
films like Masahiro Shinoda’s Samurai Spy (aka Ibun Sarutobi Sasuke) and countless other Martial Arts and Science
Fiction films, I probably would have pulled off some sweet midair maneuvers
that would have firmly denounced the fetid nickname with which my trampolining
prowess had been besmirched by my lowlife siblings.
Following the historic Battle of
Sekigahara, Japan is still torn between the Toyotomi and Tokugawa clans, though
the balance of power is inclining toward the latter. Naturally, there are other clans, and they
have their own networks of spies. These
clans generally align themselves with either the Tokugawas or Toyotomis, and
their spies wander the country, collect information, and send it back to their
superiors. The Sawada clan, however, is
neutral but leans Toyotomi. Sasuke is
one of their most renowned agents, and he soon finds himself embroiled in a
search for a Yagyu agent turned traitor, as well as a mysterious young
Christian man who is somehow tied up in all this.
The film has elements of the
superheroic at various times. Men have
the ability to leap great distances (but not necessarily tall buildings) in a
single bound. Their skill with shuriken
and wakizashi are accurate and deadly effective. These extraordinary skills are usually
distinguished in the film by the use of slow motion. Not only is the action being slowed down for
the benefit of the viewer to delineate what is happening, but this break from
normal film speed signifies that what these people are doing is special. Normal people and warriors move in normal
time. The elite of the superhuman spy
set move differently, because they perceive action differently. The flick of a blade may appear as a flash of
light to the normal human eye, but to these masters, they follow the gleaming
edge from the start of the draw to the final, bloody end of its arc, and along
the way, they will notice and hit exactly what they intend and nothing
more. These types of scenes are important
in the film, but they are not a focus.
In other words, these people have incredible powers, but they are
ancillary to the central conceit of the film.
Which brings us to the sense of
mystery intrinsic to the film’s point, and it is basically conveyed using two
visual motifs. The first is the image of
fog or smoke. The first time we meet
Sasuke, he is wandering around, lost in a literal fog and sensing like
something is following him. In fact, the
character is constantly wandering in and out of fog-shrouded climes. This symbolizes not only the murky plot
Sasuke is trying to unravel but also the interior confusion he feels about what
type of person he is and what he needs to do.
Early on, he tells fellow spy Mitsuaki that he has stopped asking why he
does what he does. His persona is
subjugated by his job, and he does it very well. Nevertheless, he does know that there are
questions he should be answering and isn’t (“No one seems to give any thought
anymore to the meaning of death. Or the meaning
of life, for that matter.”). When all
has finally been made clear to Sasuke, the fog clears for a short time, but it
well re-emerge shortly with a different function. Now it is a source of tension which will
remain muddy until Sasuke’s fate has been lethally determined.
The second visual metaphor
imparting this notion of mystery is compositional in nature. Shinoda
employs high angle shots often in the film and especially during scenes
involving action. By doing this, he
makes it more difficult to distinguish one character from another (the major
exception to this being the person of Sakon Takatani; a Yagyu agent who dresses
completely in white, effectively making of him a ghost and agent of death). Thus, the masses of people move against each
other, and the only true way to know what has happened is after it has occurred
(slow-motion sequences notwithstanding).
Still, action is not always the focus of these types of
arrangements. Even quiet moments are
mired in uncertainty, none more beautifully realized than the scene where
Sasuke and his love interest Omiya are discussing their future. The two are centered in the frame, beset on
all sides by flowers to the point that they become lost in this pattern of
nature. Samurai Spy’s plot may be a bit much to take in, and it may sound
like just another Jidaigeki, but it truly distinguishes itself as a perceptual
journey, and it is as much influenced by the best Western Films Noir as it is
by anything from its native East.
MVT: The cinematography and
general aesthetic of this film is impressive and sumptuous. Masao
Kosugi’s camerawork captures bottomless pools of black alongside searingly
hot whites. That it is so striking is
almost as praiseworthy as the fact that it is not ostentatious. To me, that makes it all the more remarkable.
Make Or Break: The
introduction of the film’s contagonist, Sakon is the Make. After using his trademark grappling hook on a
hapless victim, he emerges from one of the darkest shadows I have ever
seen. He is a spectre, imposing and
awesome, a presence to be feared and a force with which to be reckoned.
Score: 7.75/10
No comments:
Post a Comment