THE BEAST TO DIE (1980)

The pairing of director Tôru Murakawa with actor Yûsaku Matsuda produced half a dozen notable crime thrillers during the 1970s. Matsuda built a reputation for playing hard men, criminals, or assassins on the periphery of society, who are so cool they’re cold. The actor and director had established an extraordinary rapport and for what would be their final big screen outing together, they agreed to accept each other’s creative decisions with no argument whatsoever. In this experiment, the director would direct, and the actor would act. The result is one of the most uncompromising and downright nasty dives into the human heart of darkness to come out of the cinema of Japan. And that’s saying something!

It’s no surprise that this grim fusion of psychological thriller, crime drama, and horror didn’t get any international distribution to speak of. So, this fine 4K restoration accomplished by Japanese media giant, the Kadokawa Corporation, and released on Blu-ray by the adventurous boutique marque, Radiance Films, is effectively its long-awaited debut in many territories. Although it showcases a couple of career-defining performances, it’s not a film I can recommend without caveats. While there’s certainly plenty to be appreciated in terms of craft, it’s not a film one can take lightly or enjoy any more than some of the harsher war films that, by way of allegory, The Beast to Die / 野獣死すべし may be positioned among.

The pre-titles sequence is a tour de force and begins with a couple of seemingly irrelevant details that nonetheless have a bearing on subsequent readings of the narrative. There’s an aerial shot of Tokyo’s St Mary’s Cathedral, a huge and instantly recognisable cruciform building designed by Modernist architect Kenzō Tange, who also designed the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum, thus making somewhat pertinent connections between war, remembrance, and spirituality. A mother berates one of her two young children for not being more like the other, introducing themes of an individual’s behaviour being judged against a perceived norm or paradigm.

There are shots of the austere police headquarters intercut with what turns out to be an illegal casino. On a rainy night, a man with an air of authority is attacked by a tall, lanky assailant who moves in a strange, hunched manner as they brawl. The fight is realistically clumsy and beautifully shot from a distance, as if we’re witnessing things from the raised viewpoint of a nearby apartment. The two anonymous figures are silhouetted against the reflected sheen of the rain-slicked street. Surprisingly, the knife-wielding assailant turns out to be the victor and runs off with the other man’s gun.

He seems to go directly to the casino, arriving just as they’re closing and counting the day’s takings. He abruptly opens fire, shooting the remaining staff in cold blood. The scene is brutal and messy. Amid cries of pain, bleeding, and pleading, the men don’t just die the instant they’re shot. The attack is chaotic and clearly unplanned, but the assailant is the last man standing. During the first act, we will learn he’s Kunihiko Date (Yûsaku Matsuda), a recently unemployed war correspondent.

It’s not an often-discussed movie but is sometimes talked about in relation to noir or referred to as neo-noir, even though it doesn’t really fit that bill. Some action does take place in deep shadow, so dark that some of what’s happened isn’t clear, which we should be thankful for in the more gruelling scenes. However, there isn’t a noticeable noir aesthetic despite a fittingly brass-dominant jazzy score by Akihiko Takashima.

The contrast between light and shadow is rarely exploited structurally by notable cinematographer Seizô Sengen—scenes are either plunged into shadow or clinically flat lighted, such as the pivotal bank heist. The comparison arises more from the themes and probably because the first notable screen adaptation of the 1958 novel, The Beast Must Die / 野獣死すべし by Haruhiko Ōyabu, was the 1959 version directed by Eizo Sugawa, which certainly can be considered noir.

Apparently, Tōru Murakawa was impressed by that version and has said it was the film that kindled a serious interest in cinema and inspired him to pursue a career in filmmaking. His own version is a far looser and pared-back adaptation. Shoichi Maruyama’s script keeps only the main plot points while contemporising the tale and introducing ambiguity concerning the central character’s motivations.

In many ways, it could just as easily be a remake of The Sword of Doom (1966)—a superior exploration of similar themes. Yûsaku Matsuda may well have been looking to Tatsuya Nakadai’s excellent central performance in that classic as a similarly cold, psychotic killer. Incidentally, Tatsuya Nakadai had also starred as Kunihiko Date in the 1959 adaptation, so his influence is unavoidable here.

Eizo Sugawa had already remade his own film in 1974, and the same novel by Haruhiko Ōyabu is also cited as the source material for Seijun Suzuki’s Youth of the Beast (1963) and Takumi Furukawa’s Cruel Gun Story (1964). They are all very different but with shared plot points concerning an alienated young man falling into a life of crime involving gun fetishism, murder, and armed robbery.

Tōru Murakawa had already directed Yûsaku Matsuda in a film based on the writings of Haruhiko Ōyabu, the previous year’s The Resurrection of the Golden Wolf (1979), and the actor and director had established their collaborative trust while making the Game Trilogy following the exploits of a yakuza hitman: The Most Dangerous Game and The Killing Game (both 1978), followed by The Execution Game (1979), which share an influence from the hard-boiled crime writer who has been described as Japan’s answer to Jim Thompson.

Another prominent theme is the contagion of extremist ideology from one disenfranchised, vulnerable person to another. When Date incongruously attends a college reunion dinner, he sits quietly and detached, as if observing his fellow graduates as specimens. From their chat, we learn that the war atrocities he’s witnessed may not be solely responsible for his lack of morals and murderous obsessions. Turns out he was already an ‘oddball’ fascinated with Nietzschean philosophy, and perhaps he had hidden motivations to become a photojournalist in some of the world’s most notorious war zones—Vietnam, Angola, Lebanon, Uganda are all mentioned. Which also begs the question of why he would choose to hang out with this bunch of yuppies.

We already saw him casing a major Tokyo bank and realising he would need an accomplice, so perhaps he’s hoping to use his previous relationship with one of his ex-colleagues to recruit. Instead, it’s Sanada (Takeshi Kaga), their belligerent and obnoxious waiter, who attracts his attention in the only scene with a hint of humour.

It’s around this point that narrative reality is fractured as Date’s perception differs from that of others, and we begin to see two overlapping accounts of what is happening. This first becomes obvious in the harrowing scene when Sanada follows through on Date’s instruction to kill his girlfriend (Toshie Negishi). A test to check that he’s ruthless enough to be a reliably murderous wingman for the planned robbery. It’s a striking set piece as she demonstrates her flamenco dancing during a thunderstorm and is rhythmically shot several times. She dances for Sanada in a state of semi-undress, but we also see her in fully frilled flamenco frock, intercut with Date digging her grave in the pouring rain.

The success of the movie rests heavily on the two central performances, with Yûsaku Matsuda and Takeshi Kaga fluctuating between dead-eyed, soulless zombies and animalistic, primal killers, each as chilling and terrifying as the other. They had already worked together on an episode of the television series, Detective Story (1979-1980), for which Tōru Murakawa had directed several episodes written by Shoichi Maruyama.

Yûsaku Matsuda was a hugely popular leading man in the 1970s, but outside Japan is probably best known for his role in Ridley Scott’s Black Rain (1989). Apparently, he refused treatment for his cancer so he could take the role of Sato, before his untimely death shortly after the film’s release. He’s commemorated as the basis for Spike Spiegel, protagonist of the popular anime series Cowboy Bebop (1998-2000).

The other two notable appearances are from Asami Kobayashi, a successful pop singer, in the female lead, and Hideo Murota as the beleaguered detective Kashiwagi. Both manage to elevate their roles above mere ciphers with multi-layered and finely nuanced performances that are truly outstanding, even though they are little more than cameos. Hideo Murota was a hard-working actor with well over 150 credits at the time, notably including Kinji Fukasaku’s seminal Japan Organized Crime Boss (1969) and its remarkable remake by the same director, Sympathy for the Underdog (1971). Here, he gets to play out what is possibly the most intense scene among many as he listens to Yûsaku Matsuda retell the story of Rip van Winkle while playing a terrifyingly one-sided game of Russian roulette.

Date’s acts of senseless murder seem totally shocking when transferred into a setting of recognisable societal norms. However, these same things are perpetrated by soldiers who are trained to normalise the killing of another human and, no, they don’t just kill other soldiers who have bought into those rules. As we know all too well from what is still happening in the war zones of the world, innocent civilians also suffer horribly and die in huge numbers. But relocate war zone events into an everyday setting, and suddenly they are shocking, detestable, inhuman and, clearly criminal. Despite the despicable violence in The Beast to Die, it is, in essence, an anti-war polemic.

What began as a genre movie mutates into an arthouse offering, intended to challenge and stimulate philosophical musings rather than entertain. Like many war films, it crosses that line from thrilling to horrifying and yes, somewhat depressing.

Although The Beast to Die is undeniably fascinating, with an unhealthy dose of post-punk nihilism, it relies too heavily on one trick throughout: just how inhuman and unbelievably horrible can Date become. Each set piece just needs to be more shocking than the last until the audience becomes nervous about how far things will escalate. Tōru Murakawa is a fearless director when it comes to staging cold-blooded murder, massacre, and rape (which might cross over into necrophilia at some point). There are no happy endings here, and the ambiguity of the actual ending may leave some feeling cheated, but a neat narrative solution would’ve also felt like a sell-out. Instead, he dumped the ‘inevitable’ ending as scripted by Shoichi Maruyama and leaves us with a metaphorical, maybe metaphysical conclusion.

Intense as it is throughout, there was an overly excessive scene nearing the finale that would’ve transgressed further. It was excised on the executive order of producer Haruki Kadokawa. The director’s intentions were to take us in with intrigue surrounding an anti-hero with a death-wish who seemingly wants to be stopped, then drag the resilient viewer through increasingly cruel and immoral events until we can take no more. The final massacre of many innocent passengers on a train just continued relentlessly, giving the audience all the violence and gore they could want but not stopping until past the point when any sane viewer would want it to end. A relentless re-enactment of the horrors of war that are occurring daily, somewhere.

With that scene removed, we’re still left with one of the harshest cinematic studies of a damaged and deranged man in extremis. Although it wasn’t distributed widely, if at all outside Japan, its legacy seems to resonate through several notable films—Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer (1986), The Hitcher (1986), Bad Lieutenant (1992), Man Bites Dog (1992), Killing Zoe (1993)… the list of films that owe a debt to Tōru Murakawa’s Beast to Die could go on. It’s a film for those interested in the cinema of Japan, particularly its crime genres, and for those who don’t want simple entertainment from their movies but want to feel they’ve got through an ordeal. Anyone with PTSD or any deep emotional wounds should avoid or approach with extreme caution as it presents a risk of catastrophic catharsis.

JAPAN | 1980 | 119 MINUTES | 1.85:1 | COLOUR | JAPANESE

Limited Edition Blu-ray Special Features:

• 4K restoration by Kadokawa.
• Uncompressed stereo PCM audio.
• NEW filmed interview with director Tōru Murakawa (2025, 20 mins). In which he reminisces about his friend and collaborator Yûsaku Matsuda. He recalls that although the actor was his junior, he looked up to him as if he were a big brother. He tells of his awe for the actor’s talent and dedication—apparently, he shed a lot of weight and had his back teeth removed to create the gaunt, haunted look for Date! He then takes us through the making of The Beast to Die, explaining some of the thinking behind the more baffling scenes. He also laments the interference from the producer and claims this is why he refused to work for him ever again.
• NEW filmed interview with screenwriter Shoichi Maruyama (2025, 23 mins). He starts with an overview of his early career, his first feature script being for Tōru Murakawa’s The Execution Game (1979), which is probably why he was invited back to adapt The Beast to Die. He briefly discusses his process and how he changed elements from the “horrifying” novel to better suit the medium of contemporary cinema and to reflect the socio-political problems of the times. He explains how he hoped the man inside Date could be glimpsed, suffering yet subsumed by a demon that feeds upon the ecstasy of death.
• Critical appreciation from novelist and screenwriter Jordan Harper (2025, 12 mins), who approaches the movie as a work of noir fiction. He makes the interesting point that what he refers to as ‘Dark Noir’ may seem like a bleak indictment of the world, but it’s a critique of the world as made by us, not the world as it should or could be. Therefore, he argues that no matter how bleak the fiction may be, there’s an underlying optimism that the world could change for the better. He discusses The Beast to Die in a context of genre compared to other notable examples.
• NEW and improved English subtitle translation.
• Reversible sleeve featuring original and newly commissioned artwork by Time Tomorrow.
• Limited Edition booklet featuring new writing by Tatsuya Masuto and Tom Mes. Not available at time of review.
• Limited edition of 3000 copies, presented in full-height Scanavo packaging with removable OBI strip leaving packaging free of certificates and markings.

Cast & Crew

director: Tôru Murakawa.
writer: Shoichi Maruyama (based on the novel by Haruhiko Ôyabu).
starring: Yûsaku Matsuda, Takeshi Kaga, Hideo Murota, Asami Kobayashi, Toshie Negishi.