Masahiro Shinoda's Assassination (1964) was the first jidai geki (period drama) for the Nuberu Bagu (Japanese New Wave) director. It dives deep into Japan's history prior to the Meiji Restoration by presenting the story of a talented swordsman who worships the Emperor and is eventually corrupted by the rivalry between the Emperor and the Shogunate.
Shinoda does dig deep into history, but it's also a vivid character study. The fragmented presentation has its ups and downs: while it makes the film ambiguous in an interesting way it relies a bit too much on the assumption that the viewer knows the historical event. I managed to comprehend the film without prior knowledge, but it was a challenging task to say the least. The opening of the film tries to inform the audience of the context, but it's not sufficient enough.
Purely on the level of characters and themes Assassination is a triumph and the form is even more delightful. Breathtaking and menacing compositions, wild camerawork and intense editing make the film a gem on their own. Even ambitious attempts like disruptive freezeframes and first person camera work surprisingly smoothly. Takemitsu's soundtrack is experimental and great yet again.
Assassination takes too many risks in its execution. It could easily be considered a masterpiece if the audience knew the historical context well enough. Shinoda barely manages to make it historically relevant for other viewers (which is a bad hindrance for a film so deeply embedded in it), but even without that it's a rather impressive achievement.
Score: 8 out of 10







The film is almost like a deconstruction of the entire Samurai code. Kobayashi observes the (implied) emptiness of the code in cruel detail. The problems are pointed out in an unflinching way. While the film mostly runs at a relatively calm pace, there are outbursts of arrhythmic violence which work perfectly in order to deliver the message even to the most dim-witted viewers - yet surprisingly the film never seems to be heavy-handed. The narrative is quite straightforward: a linear story with a few flashbacks that are smoothly handled.
Kobayashi's form in Harakiri reminds me of Yasujiro Ozu and Hsiao-hsien Hou. His camera is set almost on the ground most of the time like in Ozu's films. Kobayashi also likes to revisit a few compositions in order to establish a connection between two scenes - either for an emotional response or for juxtaposition. This is extremely notable during the first 30 minutes when the two ex-warriors enter the estate at different times. A few key compositions are used for both of these entrances. It's also interesting how a few compositions and patterns of camera movement are used again and again during the rest of the film.
The second view confirmed my assumption: Masaki Kobayashi's Harakiri is one of the greatest cinematic masterpieces without a doubt. Sadly, it has remained quite unknown to this day.
First of all, Kurosawa's skill to craft 12 essential and unforgettable characters in the film is staggering. There are not many (if any) other films which feature such a flawless and colorful ensemble. The samurai are often mentioned to be the most memorable characters in the film, but I thought the five important villagers were as awesome as the samurai. Even though Toshiro Mifune's Kikuchiyo is the craziest one, the villager Yohei is the endless source of comic relief.

