‘The Samurai and the Prisoner’ Review: Kurosawa’s Boldest and Most Austere
‘The Samurai and the Prisoner,’ as expected from one of this generation’s very best—if not, dare I say, absolute masters—is as resolved and seductive as fans might expect
“Advance to Paradise, Retreat to Hell.”
Filmmaker Kiyoshi Kurosawa is no stranger to austere nihilism. Cure and Pulse were groundbreaking, career-defining exercises in the banality of evil and isolation, and his subsequent filmography, while decidedly more mixed (depending on who you ask), is no less evocative of spiritual rot and corrosive culture. Kurosawa’s latest trades intimate claustrophobia for acclaimed, blockbuster scale. Honobu Yonezawa’s award-winning novel The Samurai and the Prisoner may not seem an ideal match for the filmmaker’s sensibilities, though in his hands, Kurosawa culls ferocious fear from this episodic tale of feudal treachery.
The quasi-historical roots of the film reimagine the precarious conflict between Lord Murashige Araki (Masahiro Motoki, requisitely steadfast and righteous) and Lord Oda Nobunaga (Shingo Bando), colloquially known as the “great unifier.” As Araki plans to depose Oda, allegedly under the guise of Oda’s conspicuous yet accustomed cruelty, he himself is besieged by machinations within his own castle that intend to unravel his sanity and undermine his singular method of rule.
Kurosawa wisely, aligned with the source material, directs the many mysteries inward, pantomiming as Agatha Christie-lite while unspooling seasonal mysteries uniquely and pointedly connected to Lord Murashige. The episodic structure largely adopts four distinct schemes within the walls of Itami Castle, ranging from divine punishment to an ostensibly impossible murder, that simultaneously undermine Murashige’s war effort and the confidence of his most trusted men.
Concurrently, Lord Murashige seeks guidance from a prisoner and Lord Oda loyalist Kuroda Kanbei (Masaki Suda) to unravel the sundry mysteries and piece together why, within his own ranks, someone seems hellbent on stopping his conquest before it’s even begun in earnest. The Silence of the Lambs comparisons are apt, though perhaps not the best framework. While Kanbei and Lord Murashige’s meetings of the mind (enviously and classically blocked) serve as expository wells and scratch procedural itch, they’re infrequent, with Kurosawa opting instead to largely keep the focus narrow on the Lord himself.