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Fistful Of Film Fury

Akira Kurosawa’s Sugata Sanshirô is an excellent directorial debut

Sugata, a young man, struggles to learn the nuance and meaning of judo, and in doing so comes to learn something of the meaning of life.



Akira Kurosawa’s Sugata Sanshirô Is An Excellent Directorial Debut

Akira Kurosawa’s feature-length debut opens with a wandering young man named Sanshiro Sugata (Susumu Fujita) arriving into town where he aspires to earn a place under the tutelage of a great jujitsu master. Shortly thereafter Sanshiro learns first-hand that he would be instructors are perhaps not all they are cracked to be. Their attempt to rustle a rival sensei’s feathers, Shogoro Yano (Denjiro Okochi) is ill-fated, as Yano handles each attacker with the greatest of ease. Much to Sanshiro’s surprise, the victor of the contest practices judo rather than jujitsu. Under the auspices of Yano’s strict but just guidance, as well as through the trials and tribulations and a martial arts tournament, that Sanshiro will learn to control his bustling energy, channeling it to become a better, more composed human being.

Akira Kurosawa is synonymous with Japanese cinema. Virtually any conversation, published article, or book surveying the breadth of film from the land of the rising sun simply must make at least passing reference to the great master. The sheer volume of his oeuvre, to say nothing of its variety and quality, is staggering. For all the existing critical appraisals of Rashomon, Yojimbo, Seven Samurai, and High and Low (but to name a smidgeon of his cherished works), precious little time is devoted to his earliest works, namely his official directorial debut from 1943, Sanshiro Sugata. Every filmmaker must get his or her start somewhere, even the legends.

Sanshiro Sugata an eye-opening, strong start to Akira Kurosawa’s long career

Sanshiro Sugata an eye-opening, strong start to Akira Kurosawa’s long career

Co-written with Tomito Tsuneo, the picture was conceived during the final years of the Second World War, a brutal contest in which Japan played a crucial, ultimately devastating part. As such, creative control was not something the government felt was best left entirely in the hands of hot young artists the likes of Kurosawa. Kurasawa himself was not even responsible for choosing the project and, what’s more, several portions of what would have made the final film were left on the cutting room floor. Interestingly enough, no effort is made to hide this truth from the public when watching the film as it opens with an approximately minute-long explanation about how the current final, if incomplete, cut of the film came to be. Understandably a level of frustration can be felt by many a cinephile upon learning of the stifling of a creative force such as Kurosawa, but such was the case back when wartime measures dictated many facets of life, in addition to the fact the filmmaker had not yet made his mark on cinema.

While a couple of sequences are clearly missing from the finished product, resulting in some plot points suffering from a lack of dramatic weight, there is a lot of quality to Sanshiro Sugata, starting with the performance of the lead man himself, Susumu Fujita. Fujita would not collaborate with the director very much throughout his career, which is a bit of a shame considering how superbly calibrated and entertaining his effort is in this picture. Sugata himself is at times a feverishly temperamental figure, ready and willing to push anybody around who might have a bone to pick with him. The energy level in these instances is an obvious precursor to the many wild roles a more popular Kurosawa collaborator, Toshiro Mifune, would deliver in the many years that followed. Sanshiro Sugata makes the hero’s journey emotionally compelling by having the titular student boxed in relatively early in the adventure. After a skirmish in the town’s streets, one night leaves Shogoro Yano’s school embarrassed, the latter scolds the scoundrel for his foolish ways. Sugata’s realization that he must change therefore comes quite soon after the film begins, setting him on a path that lasts the better part of the next hour. From that point onward actor, Susumu Fujita plays the part with a fine balance between a willingness to erupt and the very suppression of such inhibitions. There exists a strong desire to be better, for his sake, for the sake of his master and that of the lovely Sayo Murai (Yukiko Todoroki), daughter of his opponent (Takashi Shimura) in an upcoming tournament. In the grander scheme of Kurasawa’s body of work, Susumu Fujita is not the first of his actors that springs to mind, making Sanshiro Sugata all the more revelatory an experience.

Notwithstanding the cut sequences (for which the director cannot be blamed) and a couple of instances of clumsy imagery, such as a glowing flower used to represent humanity (for which the director can indeed be blamed), the movie is extremely well directed, featuring abundant examples of the trademarks he would go on to perfect in the near future as well as some spectacularly dynamic camera work. Working in tandem with cinematographer Akira Mumura, Kurasawa lifts what could have been a perfunctory story to soaring heights with camera pans that look far away ahead of their time. The frame will sometimes swoop down into an alleyway as a fight occurs or glide just past someone’s intense glare as they grapple with an opponent. The dynamism with which the filmmaker plays with the framing possibilities is enough to make one think Kurosawa made the film on the 21st. It is simply that action-packed, breathtaking really.

Sanshiro Sugata is an all-around pleasant excursion into Akira Kurosawa’s early days as a voice in filmmaking.

This being a film about judo and jujitsu, among other things, it serves up a nice dose of combat scenes, albeit ones dominated by a level of quiet violence. For combatants such as these, weapons are out of the question in order to save face. Additionally, the confrontations between the jujitsu and judo artists are set, for the most part, within the parameters of officially licensed battles set-up by schools. Finally, the very nature of the tug of war between these two wrestling styles implies that a fight can begin quite slowly, the two contestants grappling each other’s arms and sometimes just walking together, hoping to catch the other off guard in a split second. It obviously is not the sort of fast-paced, brutal events modern eyes might be accustomed to and requires, admittedly, some patience to appreciate. Of note is how Kurosawa edits certain final blows. For example, the nighttime scene in which Sugata witnesses Shogoro Yano’s incredible prowess is filmed along a river. This proves remarkably advantageous as actor Denjiro Okochi can toss his assaulters into the water, minimizing any risk of harm done to his fellow thespians. For indoor battles the options of capturing the action of someone being launched halfway across the room are more limited, therefore forcing the filmmakers to cut away from some of the more violent moments.

Sugata Sanshirô (1943)

Sanshiro Sugata is an all-around pleasant excursion into Akira Kurosawa’s early days as a voice in filmmaking. Granted, said voice is stifled somewhat due to politically mandated alterations to the picture and not all of the plot points work as effortlessly as others (the aforementioned glowing flower is particularly silly). That said, it is more than worth his fans’ time. It frequently looks stupendous, features shockingly modern camera techniques and a well rounded, heartfelt performance from lead Susumu Fujita that anchors much of the drama.

-Edgar Chaput

A native of Montréal, Québec, Edgar has been writing about film since 2008. At first relegated to a personal blog back when those things were all the rage, he eventually became a Sound on Sight staff member in late 2011, a site managed by non-other than Ricky D himself. Theatrical reviews, festival coverage, film noir and martial arts flicks columns, he even co-hosted a podcast for a couple of years from 2012 to 2014 with Ricky and Simon Howell. His true cinematic love however, his unshakable obsession, is the 007 franchise. In late 2017, together with another 00 agent stationed in Montreal, he helped create The James Bond Complex podcast (alas, not part of the Goombastomp network) in which they discuss the James Bond phenomenon, from Fleming to the films and everything in between. After all, nobody does it better.

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Fistful Of Film Fury

Rumble in the Bronx, 25 Years Later



Rumble In The Bronx

Jackie Chan’s American Breakthrough, 25 Years Later

Few national film industries have ever been able to rival Hollywood, whose output dominates the global film market. But for several decades, Hong Kong’s cinema provided stiff competition, regularly beating American movies at their local box office. But as the years went on, directors and stars from Hong Kong wanted something more and started knocking on Hollywood’s door. After changing the game with the vivid stylings of 1986’s A Better Tomorrow, director John Woo set his sights on the American market, producing a string of legendary action films (The Killer, Hard Boiled) that found an audience in the United States through arthouse theaters and home video. Despite the international cult status of Woo’s work, these films didn’t do so well at the Hong Kong box office. But that didn’t matter to Woo; these movies were his international calling cards. After formally introducing himself to American audiences with 1993’s Hard Target, Woo became a dependable studio journeyman in the United States for almost a decade.

American studios loved Woo, so much so that they looked for more talent in Hong Kong, bringing directors like Tsui Hark and Ringo Lam to America. Soon Hollywood directors picked up on this new style, in the same way that their Hong Kong counterparts took cues from movies like Top Gun and Lethal Weapon in the 1980s. As pointed out by David Bordwell in his essential book Planet Hong Kong, American action films underwent a “Hong Kongification” in the late 90s, signaled by films like Michael Bay’s Bad Boys, Simon West’s Con Air, and Antoine Fuqua’s The Replacement Killers; these movies were brasher, bolder, and bigger than anything that had come before.

This is all to say that, for better or worse, Hong Kong action cinema irrevocably altered the shape and style of Hollywood blockbuster filmmaking. But Hong Kong’s most famous contribution to American pop culture comes not from its directors, but one of its stars: Jackie Chan. If, like me, you grew up in the late 1990s and early 2000s, it’s hard to believe that Chan hadn’t always worked in the United States, as he was an almost constant fixture in the pop culture universe of my childhood. After a decade of Belgian beefcake and Austrian Adonises, Jackie Chan was exactly what America audiences needed: an action hero you felt comfortable taking home to mom and dad. He’s as lovable as he is lethal, as good with kids as he is with kung fu.

Although Chan actually got his start as a child actor, his career didn’t take off until the late 1970s. After Bruce Lee’s death, Jackie’s long-time manager Willie Chan attempted to sell him as the next Lee; although Jackie had worked as a stuntman on Fist of Fury and Enter the Dragon, he couldn’t quite get the hang of Lee’s style and soon drifted to more comedic roles. The success of 1978’s Drunken Master, which exemplifies his marriage of high-flying, acrobatic kung fu and slapstick comedy, finally propelled Jackie to stardom in Hong Kong. After an unsuccessful attempt to break into the American market with films like The Big Brawl and The Protector in the early 1980s, Jackie returned to Hong Kong and produced some of his most famous films, including Police Story and Wheels on Meals. Chan finally broke through to American audiences with Rumble in the Bronx, which hit theaters in the United States twenty five years ago this month.

Bronx exemplifies what American audiences came to love and expect from Jackie Chan. He plays Keung, a Hong Kong cop visiting New York for the wedding of his uncle. While the United States seems at first like an accepting land of opportunity, Keung soon finds that it’s actually the opposite. He means well, but lands in the middle of a criminal conspiracy and ends up doing battle with a roving gang of goons who look like extras from The Warriors. Keung’s an endearing everyman, a perpetual underdog with a penchant for making enemies even when he means well. He’s dorky but dangerous, a chivalrous outsider who dresses a little like Jerry Seinfeld and maintains a clear sense of right and wrong.

Chan’s style of fighting reflects his stock character; it’s less about the weight behind his blows and more about the speed and precision with which he delivers them. He’s a whirling dervish. Martial arts aside, it makes sense that Chan couldn’t capture Lee’s style. Bruce Lee was a little like a Hong Kong James Dean, a wild bolt of pure intensity who died as fast as he lived. Jackie Chan is a little more like Jerry Lewis, and has always seemed more interested in comedy than pure kung fu.

Chan is well known for his worship of silent stars like Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, and Harold Lloyd, and like his heroes, he’s also famous for the extreme risks he takes to land a gag, often resulting in accident and injury. Even though Chan’s character is a little more graceful on his feet than those played by his inspirations, he still doesn’t win every fight. His character might be a master of martial arts, but he’s new in town, which means he never has total control over his physical environment. Chan’s about the farthest thing from, say, Riki-Oh; it’s the physical abuse he puts up with that makes us root for him. He’s not just an action hero, he’s a vaudevillian, which means pain is just as central to his persona as physical prowess.

Though the ridiculousness of Rumble in the Bronx roots it firmly in the tradition of Hong Kong action cinema, it signaled the arrival of a bright new star in the American popular cinema. He might have failed the first time, but Jackie Chan struck it big in the United States on his second go-round, raking in cash and earning audience adoration with hits like Rush Hour and Shanghai Knights. His presence in American pop culture might have lessened in his elder years, but he remains one of the most important and endearing figures in global action cinema.

Editor’s Note: This article was originally published under our old brand, Sound On Sight.

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Fistful Of Film Fury

The Run: There’s a reason why This Movie Never Got a Proper Release



For most micro-budget movies, the mere fact that they could get made can be considered an accomplishment in of itself. Playing at a festival is seen as an added bonus. With limited resources comes the need to get creative in ways that, when everything comes together, can sometimes produce something fresh and new. They don’t have the luxury of spending millions of dollars on sets, actors, stunt choreographers, and special effects. As moviegoers, the one thing that should be avoided as much as possible is to give a small movie a pass simply because it treads rockier waters than studio-mandated tentpole projects. Although it is very tempting to support the little guys, sometimes a spade has to be called a spade. Herein lies the issue with The Run from Malaysian writer-director Ahmad Idham.

The film follows a former army soldier named Khaliff  (Aaron Aziz), who returns to his modest hometown only to discover that things have changed. A cartel of thugs, led by an old rival who goes by the name of KJ (Erry Putra), has taken the reigns, corrupting the political system and doing their bidding with impunity. Even Khaliff’s former sweetheart Maya (Dira Abu Zahar) is caught in the terrible web, having been forced into marriage with none other than KJ himself. The last straw is when the angered veteran’s younger sister suddenly goes missing. Khaliff highly suspects KJ of having masterminded a foul fate for his sibling, sending him off on a quest to smash his enemy’s operations, rescue his sister, and perhaps even rekindle his lost love with Maya.

The Run Offers Promise but Goes Nowhere Fast

Ahmad Idham’s The Run is a mixed bag of admirable ingredients it has operating in its favor and a series of lesser qualities that drag the proceedings down, many of which stem from both budgetary constraints and a severe lack of imagination. On the positive side of things, the filmmakers should be commended for putting together a very nice array of combat sequences that belie the film’s tiny means. Notwithstanding a few wonky editing choices, The Run allows Aaron Aziz to show off a rather impressive array of physical skills. The athleticism on display from him and several of the stunt team members are genuinely fun to look at, with some of the hits convincing enough to produce wincing among the audience. Not only that but the film invests a great amount of time in its action sequences (which ironically proves to be a fault as well with regard to story — more on that shortly), giving the fans what they came to see, namely people beating each other senseless. The only quibble concerning the combat scenes is the lack of variety. With the exception of a neatly devised rooftop chase near the start of the film, a heavy dose of the action is limited to punches, jumps, and kicks. It does look nice, and it is possible to see that the actors are giving it their all, but some might find it repetitive after a while.

A couple of additional praiseworthy notes pertain first to the film’s synthesized score, harkening back to the type of music that graced many films released in the 1980s, as well as the lively performance from Hazama Azmi as Togey, a cab driver who offers his courage and extremely limited abilities to Khaliff’s mission to seek justice. Togey is far from the most original character to grace the screen, and his inclusion into the plot admittedly feels very forced, but the actor is equipped with the level of charisma necessary to have the viewer forget about the ridiculousness of the writing for his character.

That is, alas, where most of the positives come to an end. To put it bluntly, The Run suffers two nagging issues. For one, it offers nothing original to the tried, tested and true sub-genre of vigilante justice films. This is essentially an even lower budgeted version of the Joe Don Baker vehicle Walking Tall from 1973. The beats can be predicted from a mile away, which itself would not be such a terrible thing provided director Idham could muster even the slightest gusto to make the familiar passably interesting. There is an expression used by some when discussing films that clearly lack originality, the argument being that the journey matters more than the destination. This is true enough, and there are countless examples to back it up, but when the journey itself is as pedestrian as it is here the film is in dire straits. None of the actors have the chops to add the smallest amount of gravitas to their roles and the direction has a generally flat tone about it. The plot is merely ‘going through the motions’ in order to showcase some well-concocted fights scenes, but, as previously mentioned, even those can grow a wee bit tiresome due to limited creativity.

There is perhaps no worse criticism to throw at a film than calling it boring. A terrible film can be gleefully ripped to shreds and analyzed for its awfulness. A boring film simply fails to elicit considerable emotion. Yes the filmmakers obviously put effort and heart into creating the best fight scenes they could, and in many respects, those moments do pay dividends, but there is very, very little else of note. Even the title itself is a bit misleading, suggesting that the protagonist shall be the one fleeing his pursuers, when in fact the opposite occurs for the most part. Those curious to check out action movies from lesser-known markets may still want to see what this Malaysian film has to offer, which is fine. Just be forewarned that, apart from a few qualities, it runs on empty.

-Edgar Chaput

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Fistful Of Film Fury

Crows Explode punches its way near the top

A new transfer student comes once again to a high school where violent fights among students is a way of life.



Crows Explode Review

The live-action adaptation of manga properties in Japanese cinema is just as popular and frequent as Hollywood’s thirst to translate comic book tales originating from DC, Marvel, and lesser-known publishers in North America. Both come with their share of trials and tribulations, such as what to leave in, what to leave out, and what to change in order to smoothen the transition from the page to the silver screen. The Crows series — which began with 2007’s Crows Zero, was followed by 2009’s Crows Zero 2, and continued with Crows Explode – a special situation considering the change in directorial talent handling each entry. The first two were guided by the crazy genius that is Takashi Miike (which is completely normal considering the premise), whereas this entry is shepherded by Toshiaki Toyoda.

Chronologically set between the first and second films, Explode follows the misadventures of an entirely new batch of students struggling to reign supreme on the grounds of Suzuran All-Boys High School. The method of choice to gain respect and followers at this particular academy is not through the typical athletics or shameless popularity contests, however. Nay, the boys at Suzuran command devotion of others by pummeling their rivals into the ground in a series of contests between the various gangs hoping to claim the top spot. Two new arrivals, both troubled transfer students named Kaburagi Kazeo (Masahiro Higashide) and Kagami Ryohei (Taichi Saotome), make an early impression with their fearsome strength. It isn’t long before the gang leaders try to lure them into pledging allegiance. Try as each might to resist towing the school ground lines, both are inexorably drawn into the fray and become fierce rivals themselves.

There definitely must be something in what Japanese genre film fans enjoy watching on screen for there to be a number of films involving either children or teenagers whose main goal is to kill or maim one another in titanic, melodramatic contests of the fittest. The most popular and controversial entry till this day remains Battle Royale from 2000, which stirred the cinematic passions of some whilst revolting others. Shift ahead a mere 14 years and it feels a little bit odd how much more accepting audiences are of brash, perhaps even crass premises such as the one in a movie like Crows Explode. Interestingly enough, the film only appears crass on the surface. What Toshiaki Toyoda and the collection of screenwriters tasked with penning this third entry accomplish is actually injecting a modicum of pathos and worthy character relationships that successfully reflect the emotionally trying lives of these soon to be adults struggling to find themselves in a society that doesn’t think much of them. In other words, it is earnestness packaged in genre flair.

No one will argue that Crows Explode is an exemplary cinematic display of brilliantly woven drama, but give credit where credit is due. It must be said that the filmmakers demonstrate some care and affection for these ruffians with more sensitive sides to them than meets the eye. Some of these youths, in particular the comical trio who somehow form a bond with the stand-offish Kazeo, are really just looking for a new friend. Kazeo hesitates to reciprocate their affection and while he never transforms into a lovable lug, he eventually gives in to the simple yet touchy subject of showing feelings of love and friendship in a machismo world. It may be expressed in his own idiosyncratic fashion but he does somewhat relent by the end. While the machinations to build drama and a dash of comedy are by no means groundbreaking, they are handled well enough to give the movie a bit of a lift amidst all the posturing and gleeful violence. Without those touches, Crows Explode might still have been fun but would have lacked that extra something to make it complete.

As for the contests themselves, director Toyoda and his team capably construct a series of encounters that justly balance the idea of youths who have experience with fighting yet are not trained fighters themselves. The aptest way to describe the battles would be as brawls. They’re a bit on the messy side, but these hoodlums clearly have been in a healthy few and are therefore capable of ducking away from a good swing and landing a knockout blow too. It doesn’t make for the most intricately choreographed ballets, like those other martial arts films pride themselves on, but serves its own purpose nonetheless. Had the students been capable of Jackie Chan-like stunts, the entire ordeal would have been even less believable than it already is (among the questions that spring to mind is why are these kids never in class? What do they even study?). As it stands, the battles are solid fun and just varied enough to avoid slipping into boredom by the climax.

Following in the footsteps of Takashi Miike is a frightfully unenviable position to find oneself in. Outdoing him in terms of audaciousness is a ludicrous goal to aim for, as few ever could. Even so, director Toyoda offers a rather strong piece of entertainment that bizarrely finds a middle ground between telling an overarching story of misguided teenagers, who view beating each other to a pulp as a viable technique to socialize, and delving into their more troubled personal lives, thus providing the picture with a speck of gravitas. What’s more, the film looks very handsome; further indication that the filmmakers took this premise quite seriously and wanted to give audiences the best picture possible. Crows Explode is a strange mix of ingredients but disproves the odds. It might not be the king of the heap, but prince is not a bad second place.

– Edgar Chaput

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