HondaReport.com - Film Review: 'Twilight Samurai' cuts to the heart

Hawaii International Film Festival—Behind his back, Iguchi Senbei is mockingly coined "Twilight Senbei" by his rude co-workers just because he won’t go drinking after work. Little do they realize, however, that he is a reluctant warrior. His humility and devotion to family are heartfelt in the midst of poverty, and that simple understanding begins a remarkable story in pre-Meiji Japan. Director-writer Yoji Yamada’s Twilight Samurai won the Best Feature award at the HIFF, and deservedly so despite a group of outstanding contenders.

HondaReport.com Movie Review
Title: Twilight Samurai
Pupule’s Rating: * * * * stars

Both in Western and Eastern cinema, the old adage, “Nice guys finish last” often prevails.

Frankly, that cliché is significantly truer of Asian films, where bittersweet endings are often the norm.

Then there’s Twilight Samurai, a film that has a wealth of depth, characterization and well-timed development. And depending on your point of view, it has neither a happy or bad ending, or perhaps, it has both.

Iguchi Senbei is a samurai on the lower rungs of the ladder in the years just before the Meiji Era. Guns have begun to replace swords as the weapon of choice, which means fighters like Senbei are turned into bean counters who work a day shift in the castle storeroom. His official title: clan retainer. Among his co-workers, Senbei is a mystery. He leaves promptly after work, forsaking nights of carousing in local bars.

What separates him from other samurai is hardship: his mother is ailing with memory loss, his wife recently died from consumption, and his two daughters are of elementary-school age. With a small salary (50 kaku) and a field to tend to at home, Senbei never has a moment to himself. The second he arrives at home, there are household chores to tend to and craft-fair type wooden insect cages to be made.

Through it all, Senbei loses all attention to his hygiene and wardrobe, and his beard grows out. Yet, his daughters are happy, they say in unison, as long as he is there. They do all the housework together, and Senbei is genuinely gratified to be Mr. Mom.

His reputation as a hard worker, however, is lost on everyone at the castle when the lord pays an impromptu visit to the storeroom. He asks Senbei directly about supplies, and discovers that “Twilight Senbei”—as his co-workers have condescendingly nicknamed him—has neither an impressive outfit nor acceptable body odor. Senbei receives scolding from the lord, his supervisor and even his great-uncle, a dubious character who cares more about the family’s image than helping the overwhelmed father.

In the process of his harsh words, the great-uncle triggers the ammunition that fuels this plot. Senbei has an opportunity to marry through an arrangement, and since he has no wealth, that he not be concerned with beauty. “If she’s healthy and can bear you children,” great-uncle says, that’s all Senbei needs.

And Senbei politely rebukes the notion. He eloquently lists a myriad of reasons why an arranged marriage with him and his burdens—he is in major debt because of an extravagant funeral for his deceased wife, all to spare the wife’s well-to-do family any “shame.” And in Senbei’s response, we see signs of a loyal samurai whose humanity, affection and empathy earn the devotion of his family and close friends. These values also bring him the scorn of superiors and bureaucrats in a rigid class system.

Senbei is played to perfection by Hiroyuki Sanada, and his performance shines best when he is with his daughters—the younger, just 5, is absolutely charming—and Tomoe (Rie Miyazawa). It’s worth noting that although the plot is thick with memorable moments, one after the other, it is predictable. And yet, it doesn’t hurt this story a single iota because of the chemistry between these characters.

Director Yoji Yamada, who also wrote the screenplay based on a book, goes further than most samurai-flick gurus by elaborating on the fragile relationships at hand. When Iinuma, Senbei’s best friend, enters well into the story, he brings up the two central engines that drive the storyline: Edo’s coming struggle within the Shogun’s castle, and the troubled situation of his younger sister, Tomoe.

Iinuma reveals that he arranged for Tomoe to marry a bigshot in the castle, only to learn that the man is a “mean drunk.” Iinuma went to the authority and had the marriage ended—in effect, granting his sister a divorce. Can you guess what happens next?

Not long after Senbei’s interest is piqued—in his usual downplayed way—Tomoe shows up at Senbei’s home. Joyfully, she and the girls have already cleaned up, done the housework and laundry, and Senbei has relief, gratitude and a sparkle in his eye for the first time in ages.

The narration by the 5-year-old, Ito, as an adult chimes in with excellent precision. When she says Tomoe’s regular visits brought life back into the house, we see it in the growing relationship between the girls and vivacious, beautiful Tomoe. The girls become girlish again in the midst of chores as they sing along with Tomoe, and Senbei can hardly restrain a smile. Even Grandma, who usually doesn’t recognize Senbei, remembers Tomoe right off the bat, and she had not seen the young woman since she was a child.

The plot unveils the inevitable fight between Senbei and Tomotaro Yoda—Tomoe’s ex-husband—but it’s not the battle itself, but the way Senbei avoids compounding a potentially dangerous problem. Duels are forbidden in the clan, so he disposes of Yoda with a wooden sword, and there’s no serious harm done. That exploit, however, opens the eyes of the higher-ups in the clan, and with Tomoe’s growing affection for Senbei, a simple plot begins to bear tasty fruit.

Senbei, a doting father and dutiful bean counter, has his share of flaws, but they are derived out of concern for others. When Iinuma relays to Senbei a possibility of marrying his sister—“I asked her half-jokingly about it, and she said she wouldn’t mind… and then she blushed”—he backs off. A woman from a rich home, including his ex-wife, won’t be able to adapt to the borderline poverty level Senbei’s family lives at.

With that, Tomoe stops visiting, and the problems in Edo are just beginning to escalate. Senbei is in the middle of it all, and Yamada refuses to give any of the characters—even the ones who are purportedly “bad guys”—an easy way out. Yamada extracts tremendously broad facets of his secondary characters, and that lifts Sanada, Miyazawa and the entire story to the highest level.

If you expect this to be a tale exalting pacifism, forget about it. Senbei is a highly reluctant warrior—he sold his samurai sword to offset part of the funeral cost—but he is still a warrior.

When Senbei deals with authority, he never loses his sense of respect, not does he compromise himself—for the most part. His station in life, one as a subject and warrior, connects with us on a modern level, particularly for those of us who struggle to pay bills, remain loyal to our companies, and avoid complaining to our supervisors no matter how difficult it becomes to survive. The fact that Senbei, his family and Tomoe show us the content of their character so convincingly is a heart check that few other films are able to match.

The Hype: This film was released in 2002 and came to Hawaii with no previous awards. However, by the time I saw it, it had earned a Best Feature honor from the HIFF.

Strengths: Yamada allows the story to tell itself, and his trust in these actors and his cinematographer, Mutsuo Naganuma, allows them to shine. This cast fed off each other emotionally, and it shows on the big screen. Yamada also displays a great feel and skill for shooting in dark places, whether it is Senbei practicing his skills before sunrise or confronting an enemy in a house with no light. He also uses different angles as effectively as any work seen at the HIFF. He doesn’t necessarily use an excessive multitude of cameras, but he adjusts just enough for a different feel much of the time, i.e. close-ups of the children.

Best Scene: The most unexpected scene came at the film’s climax—and don’t assume the storyline ends with the last drawn sword. I won’t spoil this for you, but it allows for Senbei to actually confide in another man who easily could have become a close confidant if circumstances were different. It is a touching scene that Yamada and few other writer-directors would have come up with—and executed—so well. The best scene, of course, comes after that, but you’ll have to see for yourself.

Worst Scene: There are a multitude of quiet scenes, moments of labor on the field that certainly are essential to this story. But there is no ‘worst scene.’

Summary: This film, like Drifters and Don’t Cry, emphasizes a connection between primary characters and children, and in each instance, the work is not just a device. As this world gets further and further away from the basic fundamentals of reality, i.e. Matrix, Scary Movie, etc., a down-to-earth story about gritty adults with total devotion to their children hardly makes for the norm. But thank God for writers like Yamada, who see and build the connections that make the big screen human again. Whether it is Tomoe telling the children about their father’s courage as a child—carrying her piggy-back style to the doctor after an accident—or Senbei explaining to the magistrate how years of hardship have developed an appreciation for life, not killing—we realize this is not a story about righteous swordplay or wretched politics destroying the less fortunate.

It’s simply about this, as Senbei says early in the film: “Watching my girls grow up, day by day, gives me a feeling I cannot explain. It’s like watching a field of crops ripen. Or flowers blooming. And it is great.”

Discretionary notes: There is no nudity, and the violence is relatively tame by this genre’s standards. For kids 8 and above.