Review of Hidden Fortress

For my review, I watched Kurosawa Akira’s Kakushi-Toride no san-akunin (The Hidden Fortress). This film was released in 1958, four years after the release of Shichinin no samurai. I have always really enjoyed Kurosawa’s work and felt that I should further explore his significant catalogue. The film stars many actors who also worked with Kurosawa in Shichinin no Samurai: Mifune Toshiro, Chiaki Minoru, Fujiwara Kamatari, and a cameo by Shimura Takashi. Kakushi-Toride no san-akunin also stars Uehara Misa. The many similar actors between this movie and Shichinin no samurai express quite well how Kurosawa often stuck to actors that he knew best, most obviously Mifune and Shimura.
Kakushi-Toride no san-akunin is one of Kurosawa’s many jidaigeki films. These are historical pieces generally taking place in the Edo period which spanned from 1600 to 1867. These films were often associated with chambara, or sword fighting, since they were often focused upon samurai. Some of Kurosawa’s best films are of this genre. These include Rashomon (1950), Shichinin no samurai (1954), and Kumonosu-jō or Throne of Blood (1957). However, Kurosawa was also noted for not always conforming directly to jidaigeki conventions. Whereas some films of the genre were often shallow, Kurosawa’s rarely if ever come off as such. As Donald Richie writes in A Hundred Years of Japanese Film, “The mature Kurosawa style, one which creates a realism of its own, is put to the uses of an equally realistic but personal morality. Such abstract values as heroism, dignity, virtue, even bravery for its own sake do not interest him. In this his films are far from the ordinary period-film.” Kurosawa brought a depth to his jidaigeki, as he did with all of films, which was not the status quo. His off the beaten path approach can even be seen in Kakushi-Toride no san-akunin. The film does not follow the traditional jidaigeki style. In many ways, it is almost a satire of the stereotypical historical film as it features major characters that are distinctly not heroic.
This is evident also in the plot of Kurosawa’s film. Kakushi-Toride no san-akunin follows two greedy peasants, Chiaki Minoru and Fujiwara Kamatari, who ventured from their home in an attempt to profit from a war between the Yamana and Akizuki clans. However instead of fortune, the pair is left destitute in a foreign land. While attempting to return to their homeland of the Hayakawa clan, the peasants, Tahei and Matakishi, unwittingly come across two important figures of the defeated Akizuki clan. These are General Rokurota Makabe, played by Mifune, and Princess Yuki, Uehara. The distinguished pair is also attempting to reach the allied lands of Hayakawa so that, with the use of the two hundred gold pieces they possess, they can attempt to rebuild the Akizuki clan and retake their land. Rokurota fools the two peasants into venturing with them by playing on their greed. He offers Tahei and Matakishi a portion of the gold upon the end of their journey. However, the commoners kept unaware of whom they journey with. The strange group of travelers decides that the easiest way to get to Hayakawa is to travel through Yamana—the country desperately searching for the princess and her general—as the border between in Yamana and Akizuki is heavily guarded. The four set off through the dangerous land ahead with essentially only the wits and skill of Rokurota to guide them.
As Richie stated in his book, Kurosawa does not present a straight forward tale. Instead, he presses the audience to comprehend the moral lesson which he envisions. Kurosawa used his jigaideki films as way to reflect upon modern society. In Kakushi-Toride no san-akunin, he provides a number of possible morals, letting the viewer decide what he thinks. The first theme that I notice is how Kurosawa condemns any waste of life. This is best represented in the actions of Princess Yuki. She is always sensitive to the plight of others. This leads to underlying conflict with her position. She is the potential future Akizuki, and as such, those who wish for their clan to once more regain its status are more than willing to make necessary sacrifices so that she can survive. Yet, this is a situation she is completely uncomfortable with.
The first time that we view her distress at the waste of life is at the hidden fortress, an Akizuki secret stronghold where she and Rokurota are hiding along with a number of other clan members. She is told that Rokurota’s sixteen year old sister has made the ultimate sacrifice for her. In Rokurota’s words, “Kofuyu served her duty.” Kofuyu was executed in her stead so that she had a better chance to escape. Yet to the great disdain of her matron, Yuki outraged as opposed to grateful. She calls the general a fool for so willing giving up his sister and eventually storms out of the cave in which they are speaking. Yuki sees herself as no better than anyone else, despite whatever position she may hold. She confirms this when she says, “Kofuyu was 16…I am 16. What difference is there in our souls?”
This theme is compounded as the group continues their quest. Upon stopping at an inn to stay the night, Yuki, who at this point is pretending to be mute in order to hide her royal upbringing, comes upon an Akizuki woman who has been sold into slavery following the invasion. The inn keeper who owns the woman verbally assaults her telling her that she is worthless. He actively tries to sell off right before he very eyes. Seeing this, Yuki orders General Rokurota to purchase her as she cannot bear to see another suffer, much less one who was of her people. In doing so, there is now a new member to the group as the unnamed slave follows the two peasants, the princess, and the general in their journey.
There are other examples of message confirming the value of life throughout the film yet to reveal more would let slip primary information about the later stages of the film. So where is Kurosawa trying to go with this though? What is he trying to tell his Japanese audience? The most obvious application is he is in some way criticizing the Bushido code. Kurosawa is confirming that life should not be aimlessly thrown away when there is yet use for it. However as is the case in most of Kurosawa’s messages, nothing is so black and white. For, it is not as if as a viewer we can condemn Kofuyu for giving up her life so that her lady might survive. To do so would be a base action. This is also applies to the members of the clan who stayed at the hidden fortress. Shortly following Rokurota and the others leaving, the forces of Yamana find the where the princess and general were only a short time ago. Realizing that they needed to buy time for their princess, the older general, played by Shimura and the others remaining fight to the death against the enemy. It is the response of Rokurota that best signals this aspect of Kurosawa’s message. He wastes no time in using the opportunity that the Akizuki clan members provided him and immediately intended to venture forth rather than stagnate in the woods. Rokurota essentially provides a counter balance to Yuki in that he considers the lives sacrificed a necessity but also is sure not let their sacrifice go to waste.
Kurosawa provides an interesting view. That while the life is sacred and should be respected, to not honor another who gives up his or her life is much worse. Kakushi-Toride no san-akunin is an excellent jidaigeki which provides several other lessons for the viewer in addition to this one. It features excellent acting from Mifune Toshiro and great comedic relief provided by Chiaki Minoru and Fujiwara Kamatari. I recommend the film as it is as enjoyable to watch as it is deep in the messages of Kurosawa Akira.

Essay #1: Contrasting Ozu and Kurosawa

What can be said about two directors who quite easily described as absolute masters? Ozu Yasujiro and Kurosawa Akira are two of the best at their profession that Japan has ever produced. Yet, they also have quite obvious differences in their approach and execution. After all, how can two films such as Seven Samurai (1954) and Tokyo Story (1953) be anymore different? Despite the mere year that separate the release of the two films, they are drastically different on any number of themes, yet the differences between them also highlights the intrinsic distinctions that separate the two directors as well. In the calm, seemingly everyday images of Tokyo Story, the viewer realizes Ozu’s vision of Japanese tradition through modern means. The understated subtle emotion is the currency of the film, allowing the audience to understand the truly deep characters that Ozu masterfully creates. In contrast, Seven Samurai does not seek to portray its goals in any subtle means at all. Instead, Kurosawa presents his viewer with an intense moral question. He aims to portray his view on the societal problems of his Japan through stories of the past. In Seven Samurai, the violent, fast-paced scenes present a message that rung true in Kurosawa’s modern day Japan as well as throughout the world due to its general application. The two legendary directors had distinctly different directions that they took the films often regarded as their master pieces despite being contemporaries. As such, it seems fitting to compare and contrast them. Yet by what means should one judge them on? After all, there is any number of issues on which the two differ. Personally, I am going to judge them based upon their cinematography and mise-en scene. Ozu, often called the most Japanese director, and Kurosawa, perhaps the most internationally received Japanese director, both lead their respective films in a highly divergent and contrasting manner.

As we discussed in class, the style of Ozu Yasujiro aims to portray the everyday life of Japan. Ozu attempted to have his films be a slice out of life. Donald Richie presents this mindset when he writes in his A Hundred Years of Japanese Film:

The majority of Ozu’s stylistic means had a single end in view: the creation of a composition which satisfied him. The most traditional aims he gratified through the most modern of methods. Experimenting and refining, watching Western films, absorbing influences everywhere, Ozu was also, in his own way, concerned with a type of traditionalism. This is not only true of his subject matter (throughout his career he only had one serious theme: the dissolution of the traditional Japanese family) but also of his way of working with it. (58-59)

Richie describes a very important element to Ozu’s works: the traditional message that he crafts despite working within modern means. He does this by constructing a unified composition. This is indeed a very common thread of Japanese culture. All manner of things are presented in a unified view be it gardens, the theater, or in Ozu’s case film.

Yet, how does Ozu achieve this composition which he strives for? It is cinematography and mise-en scene which allow him to perfect his vision. First and foremost, this represented by Ozu’s use of the low-angle shot, or the kneeling shot. He uses this tool for almost all of Tokyo Story, which provides a decent picture of Ozu’s motives. The perspective created by the low-angle shot works perfectly with the film’s focus on family conversation in the traditional kneeling position. It allows the viewer to be put into the perspective of those conversing. To put the importance of this angle into perspective, I cannot imagine the scene of Tomi and Noriko’s conversation without it. It just simply would have not felt correct. The low angle shot also has other effects as well. Donald Richie addresses this in an article on I Was Born, But… (1932) when he says:

The low camera position fills all but two shots with sharp diagonals, and these (thanks to Ozu’s constant crossing of the axis of action) lend not only greater depth to the space but also greater graphic play to the compositions. Each shot is a neat, almost fussy composition, locking each character into a separate space. (228)

In other words, Ozu’s favored shot allows the composition to be that much more dynamic. It creates a great depth coupled with the ability to set up the actors in the ways which Ozu prefers—side by side in seemingly the same position.

This quote out of Richie’s article brings up another facet of Ozu’s cinematography repertoire—his failure to abide by the American 180-degree line. Instead, Ozu uses what some have dubbed 360-degree space. Ozu has no problem cutting across the 180-degree line if he believes it is necessary to his composition. This can be seen in Tokyo Story in the very beginning. We see Shukichi and Tomi packing for their trip to Osaka and Tokyo to visit their children. At first, they are viewed as facing right while sitting next to each other. However by the end of the sequence, the audience is moved across the 180-degree line so that we now see the couple facing to the left. Whereas many Western directors found this to be too confusing for the audience, Ozu uses it to explore the set around the characters creating a greater sense of exactly where they are. As said by David Desser in his Ozu’s Tokyo Story, “Careful examination of the individual setups reveals that Ozu rarely shoot a scene in a master shot.” (15) Ozu’s camera is always moving, exploring the area, giving the audience continually new perspectives.

Finally, we find Ozu’s achievement of his intended composition through his command of his actors. To say that actors and Ozu had an odd relationship would be a quite an understatement. As Ozu said when referring to his later works: “You won’t find any particularly new techniques except for the elimination of acting.” (122) Ozu held a complete dominance over those acting for him. He demanded the execution of exactly what he described, going so far as to tell actors that they would have a certain number of seconds to perform an action. He would simply continue filming until the actor did his task perfectly. Generally, Ozu had them act in a calm restrained manner as that is what he envisioned the normal Japanese way to be. Likewise in their movement, he restricted how much the actors could move. In his Currents in Japanese Cinema, Tadao Sato says that, “Ozu manipulated his players like puppets but he created scene of incomparable, formal beauty, though they lacked in vitality.” Ozu uses subdued acting to convey his message to the viewer. Instead of having bold movements be that which is noticed, he forces us recognize the small features which are so crucial to his films.

In contrast to Ozu, Kurosawa Akira has a decidedly different approach to filmmaking. He did not focus upon the composition of the shot to the extent that Ozu labored over it. Instead, Kurosawa generally discussed Japanese societal problems in his films. However as opposed to directly confronting the problem, he often liked to use a historical background to make his point. This is the case in Seven Samurai as well as in many of his other films such as Rashomon (1950). To create the social critiques which he desired, Kurosawa had to be rather inventive, constantly exploring new ways to express his goals. The ever relevant Donald Richie describes this as:

The way in which he is seen to do so is through a cinematic style which is as controlled as it is inventive, as incisive as it is subjective. All directors create their films in just this way—showing what they have learned both from life and from other pictures—but Kurosawa displays this with extraordinary panache. It is this genius for amalgamation which one may find typical of Kurosawa and very Japanese of him.

Kurosawa uses all the sources he can to create his vision, a fact witnessed in Seven Samurai. To create the rather epic battle scenes which constitute the climax of the film, he set up several cameras across the set so that he could fluidly transition from one camera to the next within the same shot. The end result is the beautiful final battle where the action sprawled across the entire village. It is small techniques like this which allow a Kurosawa master piece to flourish.

Perhaps the most significant, in my mind, difference between Ozu and Kurosawa in their directing styles is their use of the actors. As we stated, Ozu restricted the actors and made them bow to his will. The opposite could not be truer when referring to Kurosawa. He gave his sctor free-reign to try as they like with their parts. This can be viewed in Mifune Toshiro’s article in the Seven Samurai booklet. He says:

From the first, Kurosawa never said to do things this or that way—I got no detailed instructions. Instead, he said, “Show me what you can do.” So I was free to figure out for myself, using my own limited wisdom, how the character I was playing would act in a given situation. All Kurosawa would say was , “Yeah, that works” or “Why don’t you try it this way?”

Kurosawa aimed to harness the energy of his actors, such as Mifune, so that the energy would contribute to the overall societal picture he was attempting to create.

Kurosawa held a vastly different mindset than Ozu in regards to filmmaking because he was so flexible, willing to try anything if it would get his message across, as compared to the almost formulaic fashion that Ozu adopted. Whereas Kurosawa would try a new shot, Ozu would rely on his low-angle shot. Whereas Ozu would prearrange every action of his cast, Kurosawa would allow Mifune Toshiro to quite literally go wild in acting as he did as Kikuchiyu in Seven Samurai. It is no surprise that, with such explicitly different goals in their filmmaking, Ozu and Kurosawa’s films are so drastically contrasting.