Lone Wolf and Cub: Original Films (1972-74)
Dirs. Kenji Misumi [Films 1,2,3,5] / Buichi Saitô [Film 4] / Yoshiyuki Kuroda [Film 6]
Characterised by extreme violence, minimal dialogue, and highly stylised framing that closely resembles the manga they're based on, the films have a well-deserved place in Chanbara history.
The three-disc Criterion collection (pictured) contains the six original films on Blu-ray, restored at 2K from the OCNs. [1]
Discs 01 and 02 have three films apiece, while Disc 03 contains bonus features. Thoughts on each individual film can be found below the cut. Disc 03 also contains the English language dubbed Shogun Assassin (1980), which I'll cover at the end, for completeness sake. [2]
01. Sword of Vengeance (1972). Produced by Katsu Productions (i.e., Shintaro Katsu, star of the many Zatōichi films and Wakayama's younger brother), SoV serves as an introduction to Ogami Ittō, former executioner for the Shogun, now wandering the land with his three-year-old son. It highlights the tragedy and savagery of the world in which the duo exist, and the treachery of an ambitious clan who'll do almost anything to elevate their status in the political hierarchy.
With a screenplay by author Kazuo Koike, creator of the original LW+C manga that the films are based on, the story shows us where Ittō is now and where he was prior to setting out on the road. Through careful juxtaposition and an occasional flashback to two years previous we quickly get the measure of the man and a short but powerful insight into his way of thinking.
Ittō steps out of symbolic darkness to perform his given task in the light. He's the official executioner for the Tokugawa Shogunate, expected to kill his target with one perfect sword stroke every time. The position brings with it certain privileges that make him the envy of many other clans. One clan in particular, the Yagyū, headed by a man named Retsudo (Yunosuke Itō), desperately crave the power that the official executioner holds.
With the use of visual triggers and studious camera work, Dir. Kenji Misumi blends elements of classy Jidaigeki cinema with the kind of graphic violence more associated with B-Movies.
Ittō's dialogue is as terse as his swordplay; not a man to waste words in any situation, he often communicates his intentions via little more than a glance, a barely discernible gesture, or a stern but resounding silence. In no uncertain terms, despite not being a dead ringer for his manga counterpart, in attitude actor Wakayama is perfectly cast in the role, making it his own.
- The 'Wolf' of the films, Ogami Ittō (Tomisaburo Wakayama) -
Existing now as a rōnin, Ittō kills for money. Often, but not always, the people he kills are guilty of crimes against the innocent or the subjugated; from a certain POV he's like an instrument of justice, or as close to one as the people in need of his services are likely to get. But the opposite can also be true. When the job is done, Ittō moves on, ever devoted to his own goal.
If you're new to Japanese cinema, it might be helpful to know that the comfortable 'happily ever after...' ending that many western-made films feel the need to have is not a fiction they often subscribe to. The notion that life goes on for everyone after the credits roll (well, everyone that's left alive) is often part and parcel of the experience. That openness may be more apparent with Sword of Vengeance to some folks because it's essentially the first part of a larger story.
02. Baby Cart at the River Styx (1972) opens with a truly memorable scene, setting the tone for the even more elevated levels of savagery that will follow. Dir. Kenji Misumi took a more experimental approach, upping the CUs and overlays and furthering the dramatic use of silence as a storytelling device, using the absence of audio as a means to get a point across.
Hired by a nervous businessman to protect his financial and personal interests (i.e., assassinate someone), Ittō must first face the skilled Hidari brothers, aka the Three Masters of Death.
As if that wasn't a difficult enough task on its own, the swordsman also has to contend with an extended part of the Shadow Yagyū, his greatest enemy, who attack him from all sides while on the road. The Shadow Yagyū's female ninjas give the series the opportunity to further explore the role of women in the power play between good and evil.
Daigoro has a role to play, too. He's a cute kid that never complains, even when instructed to place himself in danger so that his father might gain an advantage in battle. No doubt some of the scenes in which that happens would've had western censors reaching for the red pen with panic and gusto. But it works in context and the story needs it because it's a work about Lone Wolf and Cub, not just one about Lone Wolf, after all.
- The 'Cub' of the films, Ogami Daigoro (Akihiro Tomikawa) -
03. Baby Cart to Hades (1972). Alongside the usual duelling and bloodshed, part three incorporates a different kind of violence. Ittō gets embroiled in the fate of a young woman who's been sold into servitude, which causes him to upset (and insult) a group of Yakuza.
While the Yagyū Clan continue to pursue him, they take a back-seat so that themes of honour, valour, and the crippling contradictions in the Bushido code can be deeply explored, a situation that's preceded by a group of mercenaries abusing their privileges; they're wandering ronin-for-hire like Ittō, but without the level of self-guidance that keeps the Lone Wolf steadfast.
The film aesthetic complements the study, with long scenes filled with hesitation and thought-provoking weighing of consequences.
Young Daigoro has more of an influence on events than before, but it's done subtly, not like Hollywood fumbling. One scene featuring the boy alone on a porch with his thoughts is particularly memorable. The series isn't just about killing. Although there's plenty of that, too, if that's your preference. The finale is amazing with a ridiculously high body count, but somehow Ittō can pull off that level of slaughter in a believable manner.
04. Baby Cart in Peril (1972). A new director (Buichi Saitô) brought a subtly different approach to the series, making it more emotional than previous entries. There are even scenes in which the normally straight-faced Ittō shows visible compassion and actual anger!
Thematically it tackles the parent / child relationship from a number of different perspectives, not just through the Lone Wolf and his son. We spend more time with the boy, which is a situation that works as well onscreen as it did in the original manga.
We also spend some time with the venomous Yagyū Clan, during an enlightening flashback that takes us to an era before the first film began.
Saitô also added more female nudity and because of that it's sometimes criticised as being 'lowbrow'. No doubt the occasional topless kills will appeal to a certain subset of viewers, but if you've followed the series from the beginning and noticed the progressive role of women, then you'll see past that easily. Collectively the exploitative scenes serve a purpose other than mere titillation; they have a genuine dramatic role to play in the bigger picture, one that becomes clear as the story nears its end. The only real criticism I have of Baby Cart in Peril is that the story perhaps attempted to squeeze too much in, meaning certain aspects feel a little hurried.
05. Baby Cart in the Land of Demons (1973) brought original director Kenji Misumi back for what became the darkest chapter in the series. The heavy editing and chaotic music give it an ominous tone; even the camera frequently watches events unfold from deep in the shadows, in foliage, behind pillars, from corners, etc.
An elaborate selection process has Ittō forced to prove himself worthy of a nasty assassination, one that'll take father and son once again to what the swordsman refers to as meifumadō, the Crossroads of Hell, a stony state of mind in which introspection and consequence are temporarily abandoned, replaced by a singular need to prevail in combat or die trying.
Daigoro is also tested, placing him at his own crossroad; the sub-plot interrupts the primary narrative, but his continued growth is a crucial part of the story.
When the blood begins to flow (i.e., spray violently) it engulfs the frame, mirroring both the severity of the task and the temerity of the nobility.
- Retsudo Yagyū (Yūnosuke Itō), deceitful head of the Yagyū Clan. -
06. White Heaven in Hell (1974). Ogami is pursued by the last remaining members of the Shadow Yagyū, the ones that he hasn't yet sent to the grave. The rōnin's continued existence not only wounds Retsudo personally, but is an insult to his clan as a whole, so he adopts a new, more desperate tactic. Instead of directing his efforts toward the father and son, he targets everyone that they interact with.
The previous films relied on the occasional use of gimmickry, but WHiH goes full fantasy, throwing in some bizarre supernatural elements. I'm not averse to fantasy and / or supernatural samurai films at all, but within the context of what's come before it feels very out of place.
The series needed just one more film to complete Ittō's journey, but, unfortunately, WHiH was the last one. If you do need closure, then Kazuo Koike's original manga can provide it.
[1] Pics were obtained in a general image search, solely in order to show the main characters. They're NOT representative of PQ on the Criterion edition. I know that sucks, but I don't currently have the means to make my own. PQ is variable on the first film, but generally very good, noticeably better than the previous DVD collection (Eureka, 2009, itself a wonderful collection). Audio is in the original mono. PQ on the subsequent films is better still.
[2] Shogun Assassin (1980). Dir. Robert Houston (according to IMDB). A bastardisation of the first two films into one westernised cut, re-edited and re-scored, with emphasis on violence at the expense of all else. The dubbing is bad; the only exception is young Daigoro's voice over, which is genuinely great. The child's memories, coupled with new music (Mark Lindsay / Robert Houston / Michael Lewis) gives everything a more sinister tone. It actually works for about twenty-five minutes, but then a lack of coherence drags it down. I've no plans to watch it again.
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