Matt Cooper Films

A Stray Crow Samurai (2025) by Tomohiko Yamashita

In 1666, a young boy, Jiro (Fuju Kamio), witnesses his uncle (Kippei Shiina) massacre his entire family and household. Fleeing from their village, Jiro returns 14 years later seeking revenge and answers from his relative. When he returns he finds his uncle has become the ‘Stray Crow’ of the title, dressed humbly he spends his time helping the common folk with daily chores. Aided by a shogunate spy, and local inspector Maehara (Soko Wada) who also bears a grudge against Jiro’s uncle, he attempts to enact his revenge. Jiro is also helped by a young woman, Eri (Chihiro Yamamoto), who is one of the town’s most impressive swordfighters.

Adapted from the novel by Ryo Akagami, “Stray Crow” leans into melodrama, with the opening sequence seeing a violent skirmish amongst a thunderstorm before the house is set on fire, and young Jiro fleeing through the rain with the flames roaring behind him. The film is strongly plotted, but the sets feel lifeless and Tomohiko Yamashita’s direction uninspired. There is a sense of theatricality, as though the characters are walking through a samurai-era themepark rather than truly inhabiting this world. The final twist in the tale also begs a number of questions, leading to a rather underwhelming finale.

The central mystery of Jiro’s uncle’s actions is resolved later in the film as a ruse to distract the authorities from a more dangerous truth: that the town has a large secret Christian population. It presents a moral quandary for Jiro, whose uncle murders dozens of people in order to protect many more. While Jiro comes to understand the reasoning of his uncle, viewers may find this logic hard to follow. “Stray Crow” sets up a thrilling revenge tale only to deny you the final moment of catharsis in favour of something more nuanced: coming to terms with the justified actions of a perceived enemy. This underwhelming ending sadly leaves the film without a strong conclusion, failing to deliver on the promise of thrilling action from the opening.

Matt Cooper Films

Portrait of Hell (1969) by Shiro Toyoda

A Japanese lord hires a Korean painter to depict a scene of heaven, but is disturbed by his portrayals of human suffering which he claims are nothing more than the reality he sees. Lord Horikawa (Kinnosuke Nakamura) represents the worst excesses of Heian era society, living in luxury while the common people suffer poverty and abuse at the hands of his men. He hires the famed painter Yoshihide (Tatsuya Nakadai), commissioning him to paint a scene of heaven on the temple walls to represent the glory of his reign. Yoshihide refuses, saying he can only paint things he sees. He delivers the lord paintings of death and suffering, arguing that this is the reality that the lord refuses to acknowledge. The lord finally acquiesces to him painting a large scene of hell itself, challenging the painter to make him believe in it. Meanwhile, Yoshihide’s daughter Yoshika (Yoko Naito) is being held by the lord, after Yoshihide refused her relationship with his apprentice Hiromi.

“Portrait of Hell” is a good old-fashioned morality tale based on a short story by Ryunosuke Akutagawa and directed by Shiro Toyoda. Tatsuya Nakadai stars as the painter Yoshihide and delivers a nuanced performance, a man burdened by his artistic integrity and duties to his lord and his daughter. Kinnosuke Nakamura is suitably menacing as Lord Horikawa, self-absorbed and unmoved by the suffering of his people. The story itself is straightforward, with Yoshihide’s paintings seemingly coming to life to haunt Lord Horikawa, and an emotional subplot surrounding Yoshika and Hiromi’s relationship. The sets and costumes bring to vibrant life the Heian period noble court and a dramatic string score by Yasushi Akutagawa heightens the tension as Yoshihide’s paintings begin to have an effect on his benefactor.

The film’s timeless message of the struggles of the poor against an uncaring elite and the power of art to change minds is delivered with gusto, keeping the story focussed on a small main cast. Lord Horikawa is sinister not because he is needlessly cruel, but because he seems to lack empathy or even understanding of people less fortunate than himself. His vanity and privilige blind him to the needs of the common man. The final terrifying moments when his deeds finally catch up with him, in a sequence that delivers on the promise of fantastical vengeance promised earlier, is a fitting end and one that leaves you wondering about the fate of others who fail to heed the warnings about their misanthropic behaviour.

Matt Cooper Films

Ran (1985) by Akira Kurosawa

Kurosawa relocates the drama of Shakespeare’s “King Lear” to feudal era Japan in this epic of betrayed loyalties and warring sons. Aging lord Hidetora (Tatsuya Nakadai) decides to resign his power to his eldest son, Taro (Akira Terao), gifting him the largest of his castles. His second son, Jiro (Jinpachi Nezu), is also to recieve a castle and lands, along with his youngest Saburo (Daisuke Ryu). While Taro and Jiro gracefully accept, Saburo opposes the plan, suggesting his father has lost his mind. He is exiled for his brazen honesty along with Tango (Masayuki Yui), a loyal retainer who agrees with Saburo. It is not long before Hidetora realizes his error, as his eldest sons banish him from their castles, flexing their newly granted authority. Hidetora finds himself wandering alone with his jester Kyoami (Peter), reluctant to call on his youngest son for help.

Akira Kurosawa is highly-regarded as the master of the historical action genre, with films such as “Seven Samurai” and “Yojimbo”. In “Ran” we see his directorial skill on full display with stunning vistas and set-pieces at every turn. The landscapes are beautifully shot and are a supporting character, reflecting the temperaments of the main cast. Kurosawa creates compositions that are works of art in their own right: characters backlit by the sunset or standing amongst wind-blown grass; soldiers marshalled in distinctive colours that reflect their lord’s personalities; and every facet of human emotion depicted powerfully through action and expression. The magnificent cast give theatrical performances, often over-emphasizing their reactions, but it works for the large-scale drama that is unfolding. The score by Toru Takemitsu is utilised efficiently, growing in intensity at moments of high tension, or drums bolstering the troops as they ride to battle. It is equally notable in its absence, with scenes played out in silence gaining in impact.

“Ran” feels like a very personal film for Kurosawa. Following his hey-day in the black-and-white film era, it seems as though he is out to prove himself by crafting a masterpiece on an epic scale. We see in Hidetora a man who is at the end of his career, wishing to retire in peace, and concerned for his legacy after misplacing his trust in his sons. Throughout the film, set in the late samurai period, we see guns viciously cutting down mounted samurai and archers, a nod to the notion that the march of progress can be a brutal affair, with older generations soon forgotten. No doubt Kurosawa was similiarly concerned with his formidable reputation being ignored as he entered the later stage of his career, and considering what his legacy would be. Another of the film’s central themes, one that was also close to Kurosawa’s heart, is the propensity to violence of mankind, and generational violence. The tragedy of Hidetora is that he is undone by his son’s in precisely the cruel, calculating way he dealt with his own foes. Their inheritance from him in cold, merciless, martial thinking, leads directly to his downfall. There are nods to religion, but not in an overbearing way, suggesting that there is an alternative peaceful path that people might take, averting the catastrophe of endless war. The idea of karma is also strong in the film, with Hidetora’s past actions catching up with him in his later years. One by one he comes into contact with those he has wronged in the past. Taro’s wife, Kaede (Mieko Harada), is herself the victim of one of his conquests; as is Jiro’s wife, Sue (Yoshiko Miyazaki), and her brother Tsurumaru (Mansai Nomura). He is haunted by the memory of what he has visited on others, even as the consequences of his actions begin to overwhelm him. A sublime film showing Kurosawa’s skill at dramatic storytelling and action set-pieces, this timeless classic secures his legacy for many generations to come.

Matt Cooper Films

The Hidden Fortress (1958) by Akira Kurosawa

Two lowly farmers conscripted into the army, Matashichi (Kamatari Fujiwara) and Tahei (Minoru Chiaki), are making their way home following a devastating defeat. After being captured by the enemy and escaping, they find themselves in a mountain region at a loss as the borders are being patrolled by the enemy. Their fortune changes when they discover a secret stash of gold, but their joy is short-lived when they encounter a man who turns out to be Rokurota Makabe (Toshiro Mifune), the general of the now fallen Akizuki clan. Makabe shows them to a hideout in the mountains where Princess Yuki (Misa Uehara) is sequestered, attempting to flee the country and rebuild her family’s fortunes in a foreign province. The pair are persuaded to join Makabe and the princess, with the promise of vast wealth from their secret stash of gold.

Directed by Akira Kurosawa, with a screenplay by Kurosawa, Ryuzo Kikushima, Hideo Oguni, and Shinobu Hashimoto, “The Hidden Fortress” is an action-packed samurai tale. With its slightly fantastical plot involving a horde of gold, a secret base, and the interplay of both the lowborn protagonists with their highborn compatriots, the film proivides one entertaining scenario after another, from our heroes multiple close calls with the enemy and their atttempts to escape capture, to Makabe’s duel with a rival samurai. The comedic performances of Fujiwara and Chiaki, whose bumbling, bickering farmers represent the common man are amusing and off-set the serious tone of Mifune’s loyal, stoic and calculating general. Misa Uehara, who is forced to act as a mute for large parts of the film, is perfect as the impetuous and imperious princess. The film balances the humour and tragedy, creating sympathetic characters, who play well off one another. Masaru Sato’s score provides the perfect accompaniment to the drama, from its inauspicious beginnings to a triumphant ending, with the various trials along the way.

“The Hidden Fortress” features a simple plot told from two perspectives, that of the farmers, who are attempting to get home and largely concerned with their own safety and worldly wealth; and the selfless general, whose sole intention is to preserve the royal line. Their conflicting worldviews can be seen as a broader social statement on the difference between rich and poor, the ruling and labouring classes. The film has a largely positive view of the noble Makabe; whose unwavering service to the princess comes before the vast hoard of gold they are transporting. His willingness to sacrifice himself in order to save others, and his intelligence in formulating a plan to get them safely into the neighbouring province, stand in stark contrast to the avaricious and inept farmers, with their selfish attempts to flee with as much gold as they can carry. However, the film rewards the two at the end, with Makabe acknowledging their help in enacting the plan, suggesting that despite the backgrounds of the characters, and apparent difference in their importance to society, all are capable of heroism, whether through large gestures or small.

Matt Cooper Films

The Hidden Blade (2004) by Yoji Yamada

When a former friend is found guilty of treason, a low ranking samurai must choose between duty and personal feelings. Munezo Katagiri (Masatoshi Nagase) is a samurai living with his sister Shino (Tomoko Tabata), his mother, and a maid named Kie (Takako Matsu). Fellow samurai Samon (Hidetaka Yoshioka) marries Shino and Kie moves out after marrying into a merchant’s family. When Munezo discovers that Kie is being mistreated by her husband and mother-in-law, he rescues her and takes her back into his house. Despite burgeoning feelings between the pair, their social status prevents them from marrying. Later, Munezo’s friend and former sparring partner Yaichiro Hazama (Yukiyoshi Ozawa) returns from Edo, after being found guilty of plotting against the Shogun, and Munezo is ordered to kill him. Meanwhile, their rural clan is getting to grips with the new firearms technology coming from the West.

Based on a short story by Shuhei Fujisawa and directed by Yoji Yamada, “The Hidden Blade” offers a look at life in the samurai era, with great attention to detail in sets and costume design. Every scene captures the conditions of the time, and small elements help give a sense of believability to the action. The cast are also excellent in their roles. Masatoshi Nagase is great as a samurai burdened by his feelings for Kie and the various loyalties he has to family and clan; Takako Matsu’s Kie is also sympathetic as a woman whose naivete is brutally stripped away to show a resilient core. The film’s main problem is in attempting to juggle three distinct plots, Munezo and Kie’s romance; Hamaza and Munezo’s clash; and the comedic interludes of the clan learning to use modern weaponry. The film often abandons these plots for long stretches and the three have little to do with each other, leaving the film feeling disjointed at times. There are great moments, such as the humorous attempts to teach these rural samurai how to use canon; and some incredible fight choreography when Munezo meets with his sword-instructor (Min Tanaka) and the clash with Hamaza; but they feel spliced together rather than having any thematic ties. Isao Tomita (who also provided the score for Yoji Yamada’s 2002 film “The Twilight Samurai) provides an emotional score that accompanies the melodrama and Mutsuo Naganuma’s cinematography likewise captures the period in all its fading glory.

“The Hidden Blade” is a film that depicts the lives and duties of samurai during a period when the old ways were dying. Munezo’s decision at the end of the film to forsake his rank and follow his heart typifies this new ideal of personal freedom that was begining to flourish at the time. The story of Munezo’s love for Kie is by far the strongest part of the film; with Hamaza’s plot being underwritten and the firearms drills side story going nowhere. If the film had remained more focussed on this relationship, using the others as background, then it would have been more impactful. As it is the film offers a number of incredible moments, but fails to present a cohesive whole.