Title: Kagemusha
Director: Akira Kurosawa & Ishiro Honda
Writer: Akira Kurosawa & Masato Ide
Year: 1980
From the explanatory text which opens Kagemusha, to the lengthy single-shot first scene, the pace of this film is decidedly measured. For those who equate samurai films with supershiny-superfast coolwank, this one probably isn’t for you. This film is long, slow and marvellous.
A ‘kagemusha’ is an impersonator, a body-double presented instead of a person of influence and importance, in order to protect them. The titular kagemusha is a thief with a striking resemblance to Shingen Takeda, the daimyo of Kai Province. He is discovered and saved from crucifixion by Nobukado, Shingen’s brother and erstwhile occasional kagemusha. It is decided that the thief is to be trained in the ways of kagemushery, and the film follows the difficulties that arise in making this a reality.
Japanese acting is often a tumultuous beast, with subtle understatement sitting alongside some pretty huge performances. Kagemusha is no exception, but does avoid the grotesques of gurning and mugging which is in abundant use in Japanese humour, which is often used to brilliant effect, but would be out of place here. The understated/overstated contrast is key to this film, as Tatsuya Nakadai puts in a masterfully schizophrenic performance as both Shingen Takeda and the Kagemusha. The differences between the two characters, and the subtle advances of the Kagemusha as he learns his imitative art is the backbone of this film, and it is a truly impressive achievement. The crux of one scene, which is perhaps the most impactful of the film, rests entirely on the Kagemusha changing his posture and expression, and the huge effects these tiny alterations have on those surrounding him.
There is a less subtle piece of acting which makes the film for me, personally, but I’ll discuss that fully later.
I’ve referred to the music in the notes I made as ‘Zelda music’, but it is perhaps more notable for how very sparsely it is used. It is a largely orchestral score, but used tastefully, with little in the way of relentless pomp to drown quieter scenes. At one juncture, a death scene; piercing, shrill flute squeals accompany the action, creating a discomforting, pained experience. ‘Zelda music’ flags up that I am perhaps not best suited to fully critique the film’s score.
Some very beautiful and striking imagery is on show throughout the film, with one particular sequence focusing on the setting sun, as a seemingly endless line of soldier march past it in silhouette atop a hill, whilst in the foreground, in shadow, officers discuss the campaign. Oddly for a film which has pitched battles as it’s backdrop, very little, if any, clear ‘fighting’ is shown. When the Kagemusha finds himself actually on a battlefield, the fighting is portrayed by shouting and clamouring off-camera, with the shot focusing on the Kagemusha himself and those surrounding him. His confusion, helplessness and terror, as well as that of his vassals, is in the foreground, with the grotty business of actual conflict taking a backseat to the human drama. These sequences make for difficult viewing, as portrayal of the Kagemusha’s lack of understanding as the battle rages around him translates into the viewer also not understanding the ebb and flow of the, largely unseen, battle.
A wonderful piece of, very understated, repetition occurs, almost bookending the film, in the form of location. By setting two key scenes in the same setting at the beginning and towards the end of the film, it throws the changes that have been wrought over the course of the piece in sharp relief. That it is hardly flagged up at all, and I only noticed after multiple viewings, made it a much more rewarding and impactful realisation.
There are a couple of sequences which had less impact on me, and I’m uncertain as to whether this is simply because I lack foreknowledge of the story (which is set in the Warring States period, and uses real historical figures for it’s characters) or of Japanese traditions. In one scene a soldier is shown at great length filling in a primitive musket and replicating a shot he took the night before. This is done to prove the veracity of his claim to have shot someone, but the length at which the scene plays out suggests significance which I didn’t grasp. A burst of Noh theatre and a scene where Nobunaga Oda sings in a throaty chant only succeeded in boggling me, though a surreal / expressionistic dream / nightmare sequence stood out as being markedly, but assuredly, odd.
My favourite performance of the film comes from Hideji Otaki, who portrays Masekage Yamagata, the Fire Battalion Leader / Red Fire Unit Leader. The character is an influential General in Shingen’s army, and a close friend. He stands out for his furious telling-off of his leader:
“You are a mountain monkey. You should be out gathering nuts in the mountains of Kai!”
Otaki was possibly selected for the role due to his ability to release pointed tirades, grand explosions of shouting, and then quickly settle back into restrained dignity. That, and his inhuman ability to turn a shocking shade of crimson. He is, after all, the Red Fire Unit Leader. In council scenes, Masekage takes the floor, addresses his peers in a restrained manner, before building up Cleesian volume, often ending his outbursts with barked, powerful laughter. Of an enemy officer he declares:
“He scares me.”
Before sidling back to his cushion, throwing his head back 90 degrees and commanding all to laugh by turning himself a deep red with forceful laughter. Frightening and wonderful.
The film also features palanquins, which is always a good thing. Say it out loud “palanquin”. Savour the word. Palanquin.
The overarching plot of the film is Shingen’s forces fighting the combined threat of Ieyasu Tokagawa and Nobunaga Oda, but it is really a study of a man who is forced into a situation far beyond his knowledge, where he is forced to develop responsibility, and dignity. A fraught film that needs to be properly engaged with to be really appreciated, but which rewards your engagement fully.
