Kiyoshi Kurosawa is a masterful filmmaker, writer, lecturer, and teacher. His ability to transform with his material has to be seen to be believed. Throughout his long career, Kurosawa has made horror films, thrillers, dramas, and almost everything in between. Now, he turns his hand to a historical epic, and still manages to wrestle it into a shape and style that is uniquely his.
Based on Honobu Yonezawa's novel, The Samurai and the Prisoner could just as well be a Shakespeare play. It certainly plays out with the same sense of impending tragedy, where the heavens itself seems to conspire against those who have risen against fate. There is murder, political intrigue, and even a hint of magical realism, yet none of these elements overpowers the others. Kurosawa keeps us guessing along with the main characters. By the time things start to make sense, history has caught up with us.
Our anti-hero is Lord Murashige Araki (Masahiro Motoki), who has turned against the shogun at a time of war. His castle, an impenetrable fortress admired and feared by many, is now besieged. Araki's old friend, Kanbei (Masaki Suda), arrives as a messenger to deliver the news that both of them already know: Araki must surrender, and he will be executed for his betrayal.
Then, Araki does the unthinkable and imprisons Kanbei along with other high-ranking dignitaries in his castle. During war, this is a grave offense. To a samurai, it is beyond forgiveness.
In another story, the two would not meet again. Yet this is anything but an ordinary tale. Soon, one of the other prisoners, a child, is found dead. Murdered by an arrow, but without any evidence of the crime beyond the puncture wound. Araki interrogates his men and investigates the clues to no avail. So, in a moment of desperation, he turns to Kanbei and asks for his help.
For two and a half hours, Kurosawa toys with our expectations and demands for this genre. He crafts an impeccable mystery and rewards us with a journey so compelling that when it finally unravels, it almost feels secondary. Every beat of this chamber piece is so riveting that even the potentially obtuse politics and hierarchies within the castle cease to matter. We understand emotionally why things happen, and that is enough.
This is also a gorgeous film, shot almost entirely in wide images and unbroken long takes, where people simply speak to each other. If you come in expecting the traditional war scenes or swordfights, you won't find them here. But I defy anyone to call The Samurai and the Prisoner boring. In fact, it is as riveting as any action film out this year.
Watch, for example, how Motoki and Suda give us an entire microcosm of personal history, rivalry, and deep friendship now poisoned by political turmoil, and how deftly they weave between what they once were and who they are now. As greater events overtake the castle, it's easy to forget, even for a moment, all that has happened, and for a brief window in time, two men connect as equals to solve a murder. Then, as Kurosawa pulls away, it's like we're stepping away from the stage to a grander world, and the results feel dizzying.
I was riveted by every minute of The Prisoner and the Samurai, and I can't wait to disappear into its sumptuous, intricately designed world once again. It's not a short film, nor is it an easy picture to grasp, especially if you're not already enticed by Japanese history and filmmaking, yet it rewards patient viewers with incredible delights. Kurosawa's latest is a masterwork in form and function, a spellbinding blend of genres that thrills from the opening shot to the inevitable conclusion.
