LEGEND OF THE EIGHT SAMURAI (1983)

Kinji Fukasaku is one of Japan’s most unpredictable and interesting directors. He’s made chaotic craziness like Message from Space (1978) and, the same year, the beautifully crafted The Fall of Akō Castle (1978). Until a recent rash of restored releases on Blu-ray, he was mainly known in cult genre circles for his Roger Corman-esque sci-fi films, which were given limited theatrical distribution outside Japan but had a second life as trimmed and poorly-dubbed VHS transfers. Now he’s best known for kicking off the Asia Extreme movement with Battle Royale (2000) and for his brutal and uncompromising yakuza thrillers, typified by the game-changing Battles Without Honour and Humanity (1973). He also pioneered an inventive fusion of chanbara fantasy and Gothic horror with Samurai Reincarnation (1981), and this is the clear precursor to Legend of the Eight Samurai / 里見八犬伝 / Satomi Hakken-den, recently restored on Blu-ray for the first time in the UK for Eureka Entertainment’s ‘Masters of Cinema’ imprint.

The story is inspired by Kyokutei Bakin’s huge and enormously influential opus Nansō Satomi Hakkenden, published in nine volumes over 28 years beginning in 1814 and finally comprising 109 books. It would be ludicrous to expect a film, even with a respectable run-time of 136 minutes, to attempt a faithful adaptation. It retains—and takes many liberties with—the mythic prologue, period setting, and core characters.

Of the dozen or so films and anime directly inspired by the same source material, Kinji Fukasaku was responsible for two of them. His first retelling of the tale was the wonderfully wacky Star Wars (1977) pastiche Message from Space, which did well in Japan but was critically ridiculed elsewhere. While making that space opera version, he’d familiarised himself with the classic Satomi story and clearly believed there was mileage in an equally fantastic treatment as a period-set action adventure or gesaku—a genre of Japanese light fiction by authors who depended on writing to earn a living. Therefore, their works are generally funny or exciting with plenty of hooks and cliffhangers to keep the reader interested. Nowadays we would call it genre, as opposed to literary, fiction—intent on entertaining the reader rather than showing off how intellectual the author is.

The screenplay was co-written by Kinji Fukasaku and Toshio Kamata, who was writing the novelisation in parallel, and published as Shin Satomi Hakkenden in 1982. So, although the film purports to be an adaptation of Kyokutei Bakin’s seminal novel, it’s more of a digest version with Fukasaku’s contributions being recycled from Message from Space, which itself was a very loose adaptation in collaboration with Masahiro Noda.

After the unwelcome surprise of an English-language power ballad performed by John O’Banion over the titles, the opening sequence contains enough expositional dialogue to set the scene as the evil Lady Tamazusa (Mari Natsuki) and her son Motofuji (Yūki Meguro) of the Hikita clan return to their castle after a century’s absence. They have managed to survive by drinking, and bathing in, blood as well as periodically replacing their skin with that of young unblemished maidens. They gloat over the severed heads of the Satomi clan, their ancient adversaries responsible for their defeat a hundred years prior, except the most important head is missing…

Princess Satomi Shizu (Hiroko Yakushimaru) managed to escape into the mountains with the help of Kohaji (Yûko Kada) and her father, but they’re soon tracked down. However, Kohaji’s now dressed as the princess and Shizu wears the tunic of a young boy, so the Hikita henchmen capture the wrong one. We soon realise that this isn’t quite the silly hokum one might expect after that cheesy opening song when the Hikita Phantom Man (Akira Shioji), their evil ‘witch doctor’, begins skinning the hapless girl’s face… the procedure is interrupted when their seer (Yoneyama Mamako) senses that Shizu is still out there.

Later, in what’s probably the most effective of the action sequences, we realise that the seer is no ordinary old crone but a fearsome shape-shifting demon. Her true form is a giant black centipede monster made more convincing by frenetic camera work and dynamic editing. However, the flying snake demon we meet later is less convincing but remains a rubbery treat for fans of old-school practical effects. The patchy VFX combine plenty of wirework and mechanical effects with post-production video trickery that adds a certain 1980s nostalgia. Nobuo Yajima had pioneered similar mechanical and miniature effects while previously working with Fukasaku on Message from Space and there are a few nice combinations of miniatures, matte paintings, and live action that are effective while remaining obvious enough to be appreciated.

Shizu later runs into young ruffian Shinbei (Hiroyuki Sanada), who has recently returned from war and is pretending to be a samurai. Initially, he takes pity on who he thinks is an orphan boy but after giving her some food, he realises she’s actually a girl and cannot restrain himself. What begins with an attempt to uncover her disguise looks likely to escalate as he tries to rip off her tunic only to be prevented by the timely intervention of two wandering rōnin, Dōsetsu (Sonny Chiba) and Daikaku (Minori Terada), who have a magical scroll that tells the tale of Shizu’s ancestor, Princess Fushihime…

Now, pay attention here. During a time of war a century earlier, the Satomi clan had defeated the Hikita clan but were cursed by Tamazusa as she seemed to perish in a fire. Later they were besieged by invaders and their lord Yoshizane proclaimed that whoever brought him the head of the enemy general would win the hand of his daughter, the Princess Fushihime. Later, it is the battle hound Yatsufusa that brings the head of the general to Yoshizane. Fushihime honours the promise of her father and clan lord, leaving with the dog to live in a cave. One of her suitors cannot bear to see her shamed so and takes some men to seek out their cave with the intention of shooting Yatsufusa. However, Fushihime throws herself in front of the dog who has done no wrong and they both end up being shot. Miraculously, the eight bullets that hit the princess are transformed into glowing balls of energy that fly off, scattering across the realm to find eight warriors that will come to the aid of the Satomi clan when it’s threatened again. After the reading of the scroll, Dōsetsu and Daikaku show Shizu their glowing balls and pledge allegiance to her as the last of the Satomi clan.

Yes, that’s the premise and the rest of the narrative to follow is no less convoluted. Fukasaku keeps things jogging along with short scenes, lots of cuts, and a dynamic camera—and not only during the plentiful action scenes. So, we don’t get bogged down with exposition, but we don’t get a chance to settle into the story either. One wonders if the feature-length format was the best choice for the script or whether a miniseries would’ve served the script better.

Though we understand the emotional connections between characters, we don’t feel them as there’s little room for natural development. That’s not to say the film lacks an emotional dimension; the scene where Shizu and Shinbei try, and tragically fail, to save the lives of some children is perhaps heavy-handed but effective, nonetheless. It marks a moment when the characters convincingly modify their motivations in response to narrative events.

The same scene is also a catalyst for change in Genpachi (Kenji Ôba), one of the Hikita soldiers who begins questioning the ethics of blind obedience to Tamazusa. On a deeper level, he also acknowledges the uncomfortable truth that he has relished the mayhem and murder he’s meted out upon innocents. At this point, he finds his glowing ball and changes sides and these are just a few examples of several redemptive character turnarounds.

Another is Keno (Etsuko Shihomi), a female ninja who’s been cursed to be alone and unloved and in response has become a cold-blooded, and highly effective, assassin. She’s introduced as an entertainer attending the wedding of Hamaji (Nana Okada), who’s unwillingly being married off to a wealthy magistrate even though she loves her stepbrother Shino (Kyomoto Masaki).

In a typically complex sequence of events, Keno murders the magistrate. Shino attempts elopement with Hamaji, who is accidentally killed by a sword strike intended for Shino. Then, in a fit of passion, he massacres his own immediate family. In the chaos, the Phantom Man makes off with Hamaji’s corpse, and his accomplice Younosuke (Hagiwara Trend) falls in love with Keno, having been impressed by her control of snakes. We later learn that he is himself a giant snake demon who can assume human form. After all that, Keno and Shino have a philosophical chat about whether they can change after such catharsis, and when both decide to give it a try, they discover they each have one of the glowing orbs. So, given a new purpose and a shot at redemption, they heed the calling to aid Shizu restore her clan. That’s probably an oversimplification, but you get the gist.

Etsuko Shihomi was known for being the first actress to perform her own fight scenes and stunts as the first female member of the Japan Action Club, a stunt company founded by Sonny Chiba that oversees the excess of fight choreography here, often involving numerous combatants. She’s also a competent dramatic actress, and for a while in the mid-1970s had achieved idol status, with her photo sets becoming national best-sellers.

The cast all do very well with the material they’re given, yet none of them are completely convincing. We only get a hint at Hiroyuki Sanada’s considerable talent, which guaranteed a long career, with his more subtle skills showcased wonderfully as Lord Yoshii Toranaga in the recent miniseries Shōgun (2024). Perhaps the anachronistic approach, where they appear to be modern people role-playing historic characters, is in keeping with the casting of a very well-known idol in the female lead. A good proportion of the audience would have been going to see Hiroko Yakushimaru, regardless of the movie.

She was popular across several media, including mainstream television and pop music, with her debut album topping Japan’s charts. After taking the lead in Shinji Somai’s Sailor Suit and Machine Gun (1981) about a schoolgirl who ‘inherits’ control of a yakuza gang, she rapidly rose to stardom with that movie’s theme song as her debut single. If only she’d stepped up here because the MOR soft rock ruined the atmosphere more than once. Fukasaku apparently admired Mike Hodges’ Flash Gordon (1980) and probably hoped an American rock score would appeal to foreign audiences.

Hiroko Yakushimaru is fine, and the camera loves her, but she’s given some contradictory materials to work with. Presented as a feisty princess who is prepared to pick up a katana to confront enemy cavalry single-handed, she’s still reliant on others to repeatedly rescue her.

The boring and needlessly protracted love scene between her and Shinbei, accompanied by an Americanised love ballad “I Don’t Want This Night to End”, is the low point of the movie and instead of a welcome respite from the action, it’s more of an interruption. In narrative terms—and for the characters, I suppose—this is the climax and the sealing of their fate before we head into the final act, which has a sense of inevitability as the eight ‘dog’ samurai take on the might of the Hikita clan in their dark, cavernous castle.

The lavish sets are certainly worthy of note and took over the three largest sound stages at Toei Studios, plus a purpose-built new one for the fourth and largest set. The huge hall housing the pool of blood that Lady Tamazusa bathes in naked may well be the bigger one, though the multi-level castle temple to an evil Hitama is spectacularly vast and will stage the final battle.

The costumes also act as extensions of the set, inspired by the sumptuous paintings of the artist Gustav Klimt in his so-called golden period, including his most famous, “The Kiss”. This painting of two lovers embracing is paraphrased in the set design during the final act, highlighting the romance of doomed love between two characters who could have been on the same side but no longer are when we reach the finale. The combined effect is something like a mad melding of Hammer, Corman, and Akira Kurosawa!

Kinji Fukasaku’s Legend of the Eight Samurai is by no means a perfect movie, but it’s never boring and always entertaining. Though it fluctuates between campy frivolity and some surprisingly dark moments of horror, the scariest things about it are those terrible 1980s power ballads that leap from the soundtrack without warning.

JAPAN | 1983 | 136 MINUTES | 1.85:1 | COLOUR | JAPANESE

Limited Edition Blu-ray Special Features:

• Limited Edition (2000 copies).
• Limited Edition O-Card slipcase featuring new artwork by Chris Malbon.
• 1080p HD presentation on Blu-ray from a brand new 4K restoration.
• Original Japanese stereo and DTS-HD MA 5.1 audio options.
• Alternate English dubbed audio track.
• Optional English subtitles.
• NEW audio commentary by Japanese cinema expert Joe Hickinbottom. A thorough and informative commentary in which he shares the expected potted biographies of cast and crew and places the film in context with Kinji Fukasaku’s œuvre. He usefully points out and discusses the influence of kabuki and Noh theatre in the costumes and staging of key scenes. He also discusses the special effects and their connection with the Tokusatsu Research Centre, dedicated to innovating the VFX aspects of Japanese cinema before the digital age and now instrumental in preserving that art form by using miniatures and mechanical effects. His style is measured, and he manages to hold the listener’s interest for the whole duration of the film.
• ‘Always Looking for the New’—NEW 25-minute interview with Kinji Fukasaku’s son, filmmaker Kenta Fukasaku. He begins by summarising how his father became involved with period dramas after directing Shogun’s Samurai: The Yagyu Clan Conspiracy (1978). He then goes on to discuss the working relationship with Haruki Kadokawa, who ran the Shoten publishing empire, as well as film distribution and talent management, cited as initiating the hierarchical idol system in which Hiroko Yakushimaru was considered number one at the time. Kenta then recalls his first times visiting the sets and locations of his father’s shoots and being befriended by Sonny Chiba, whom he describes as a second father figure to him. He then focuses on the production of Legend of the Eight Samurai, comparing the book with the script and sharing his observations about the finished film, informed by his behind-the-scenes knowledge.
• ‘The Trials of the Eight Samurai’—NEW 16-minute video essay by film historian and critic Stuart Galbraith IV…. celebrating Kinji Fukasaku and Legend of the Eight Samurai, which was the top-grossing domestically produced film of 1984 in Japan, breaking previous records, partly due to the tie-in sales of VHS tapes sold in cinemas after screenings. An interesting aside is that Haruki Kadokawa was responsible for seven of the Top 20 most successful Japanese films of all time until his career crashed in 1994 after his conviction for embezzlement to fund a cocaine-smuggling racket.
• Japanese trailer.
• A limited collector’s booklet featuring a new essay by Tom Mes, co-founder of Midnight Eye (2000 copies). An excellent and impressively comprehensive essay, tracking the development and production of the film, as would be expected from the authoritative Tom Mes. At 20 pages, the booklet itself is a nice little collectable object, but as is often the case, it lacks any rare material, such as concept art, production designs, costume sketches and the like, settling instead for some nice stills from the film on the accompanying Blu-ray.

Cast & Crew

director: Kinji Fukasaku.
writers: Kinji Fukasaku & Toshio Kamata
starring: Hiroko Yakushimaru, Hiroyuki Sanada, Sonny Chiba, Mari Natsuki, Yūki Meguro, Etsuko Shihomi, Masaki Kyomoto & Kenji Ohba.