The Sword of Doom presents a minor and rather short-lived inconvenience, in that it's due up next in my blogging queue while I'm in the midst of this conveniently timed burst of enthusiasm for the project and I have a lot of time off away from work. I just rewatched it last night on DVD, but I'm quite aware that the film will be released in a new hi-def Blu-ray next week. I don't have a pre-release review copy on hand, nor do I expect to get one in the mail, and I don't want to postpone this review for a week just for the sake of sticking to my timeline. So my solution to all that is to write a few notes on the film itself, then move on to other Criterion titles over the next few days, then get the upgrade soon after it becomes available and come back here to add a few more comments after I check out the new transfer and listen to the Stephen Prince commentary track that they've added as an enticement for those who already own the otherwise bare-bones original release.
The Sword of Doom has a reputation among most contemporary viewers as one of the darkest, most malevolent and morally nihilistic examples of the great Japanese chanbara explosion that took place in the mid-1960s. A dark eyed, nearly expressionless enigma wielding a lethal and merciless weapon, Ryunosuke Tsukue is a fearsome assassin capable of dispatching a circling mob of expert swordsmen with appalling efficiency, mowing them down in a series of fatal single stroke blows while hardly blinking an eye or breaking a sweat - until all hell breaks out in a berserk rampage at the end of the movie, a whirlwind of mindless slaughter that is still quite stunning even in comparison with the hyperviolent stylings of our current era. Ryunosuke is an ultimate badass, not to be messed with, and with its dream team pairing of legendary actors Tatsuya Nakadai and Toshiro Mifune (along with a great supporting cast featuring a couple of my favorites, Kei Sato and Ko Nishimura), The Sword of Doom holds a special prestige for being so intensely hardcore, one of a handful of towering "must-see" classics in samurai cinema.
That's how the film initially comes across to first time viewers, especially those who have not spent much time examining the evolution of the samurai movie niche. The popularity of Kurosawa's Yojimbo brought a fresh surge of vitality into the genre, along with ample production budgets that attracted talent and allowed the creative expansion of narrative and thematic possibilities within this tradition. leading to the massively popular Zatoichi series and other masterpieces like Harakiri, Three Outlaw Samurai, Onibaba, Kwaidan, Samurai Spy and a host of lesser variations. The Sword of Doom definitely represents an inversion of the basic tradition, as Ryunosuke, the central figure of the film - masterless, merciless, unflinchingly grim and dour - behaves more like the kind of villain that a character like Zatoichi or similarly virtuous counterparts in other films of this sort would have to deal with at the conclusion of a particular episode. He's a master of any fighting style that he chooses to adopt, but his most frequent stance is a form of withdrawal that basically waits for his opponent to make a move, which he ruthlessly exploits as he instantly penetrates whatever vulnerability they expose, killing them with horrific expedience. When others plead with him to show mercy, or any indication of compassion on their behalf, they're met with stony silence, or placidly cruel inquisition that exposes their corrupt, self-serving motives. In short, Ryunosuke is not very nice. His stony exterior can only be penetrated by those brave enough to peer into the bottomless inkwells of his eyes, in search of a soul that might be entirely absent or, at best, cloaked in unfathomable and fearsome depths of hostility felt toward the human species en masse.
So what are we to make of this character? Lacking the usual qualities (courage, humor, wit, empathy, a compelling "against all odds" back story, a heroic quest, etc.) that we usually regard as essential in making a hero seem attractively charismatic, fans of The Sword of Doom nevertheless find something to admire about the guy, and I think it goes beyond his terrifying command of hand-held weaponry. (But let's not underestimate that!) What makes Ryunosuke so capable of holding our attention is the sense of unswerving purpose that drives him forward through all the intrigues and pitfalls that place him so frequently in danger. What that purpose consists of, exactly, is harder to define, but I think the key to understanding his function is found in the opening scene of the film. In it, we first see, in a very brief shot without any other introduction, Ryunosuke from behind, dressed in black and wearing a very large woven hat, walking across a mountain ridge. A moment later, an old man and his teenage granddaughter Omatsu arrive at nearby shrine, where they take in the view while the grandpa recounts an old folk legend attributed to that spot. After he dispatches the girl to go retrieve some water for their journey to Edo back down the mountain, the old man reverently bows in prayer to Buddha, asking that he be released from his earthly sojourn "now" so that he would no longer be a burden to the girl. Right on cue, there's Ryunosuke, ready to serve as living proof that Buddha answers prayer. One stroke and the old man's supplications are met with the response he desired. Of course, Omatsu is horrified to discover her granddad's dead body upon her return, as is Shichibei, a petty thief disguised as a peddler who happens to pass by on the trail moments later as Ryunosuke passes him in returning to his home village.
Those seemingly chance encounters set up plot developments later on in the film that are easily missed for those (like me) who sometimes struggle to keep the Japanese names and characters straight when watching the first time through. I'm not going to bother trying to summarize all that, but I do recommend viewing The Sword of Doom with this idea in mind, that Ryunosuke is not a volitional being, that is, he's not really acting according to his own will, throughout most of the film. Rather, he's been transformed through his training (or perhaps, through some inscrutable decree of the Buddha, predestined) to become a karmic enforcer, only doling out through his sword and his implacable resistance to emotional manipulation the swift justice that his victims unwittingly bring down upon themselves. My thesis is most obviously upheld as we consider the fates of Bunnojo Utsugi and his faithless wife Hama, each of whom experience emotional torment, social disgrace and ignominious death at Ryunosuke's hands due to their misplaced priorities and selfish ambitions.
But what about the nameless foes that he slices down without pity? Do they truly deserve the brutal fate that awaits them? I say yes... yes they do. As anonymous henchmen who took on the assignment to uphold a corrupt status quo, their training and talents have sadly been put to shameful use. And in placing themselves in mortal opposition to Ryunosuke, the Buddha's chosen wielder of The Sword of Doom, they wind up on the losing side as divine judgement is dispensed.
Further evidence to back up this notion is found in the big showdown that we as fans would have wanted to see, and might even feel was promised to us. I'm not referring to the apparent duel that was supposed to take place, in a sequel that was never made, between Ryunosuke and Hyoma Utsugi, brother of the man and husband that was killed early in the film due to his rash and dishonorable employment of an illegal tsuke thrust. Rather, I'm thinking of the epic pairing of Tatsuya Nakadai's Ryunosuke and Toshiro Mifune's Shimada, the gallant master of a sword fighting school who serves as Hyoma's mentor in his quest to avenge his brother. The closest that the two megastars Nakadai and Mifune come to drawing swords on each other is in a marvelous outdoor battle in the snow in which Shimada slays a pack of would-be assassins who had a different target in mind when they stopped the palanquin carrying him. At the moment when it seemed like Ryunosuke would join the fray, his hand is on the grip of his blade, his thumb briefly twitches to extract it from the sheath, but the sword never emerges. That's because there's no reason it should. Despite the slaughter of a dozen skilled but inferior swordsmen, Shimada has done no wrong here; the Buddha has no justice to dispense. Thus, Ryunosuke gives the appearance of one who has "lost confidence in his sword," as Shimada appraised his rival's failure to engage.
But then, what about the ending? What kind of righteous verdict can we attribute to the Serene Buddha's unerring maintenance of karmic balance through Ryunosuke's insane outburst of random destruction and unrestrained violence that we see over the last ten minutes of The Sword of Doom? I definitely have to think this one through a bit more. It's pretty clear that a huge change has taken place in his psyche, and it's triggered by the revelation that Omatsu, the younger sister of his (by now deceased) common law wife Hama (widow of Bunnojo, the man he killed in the fencing tournament), was also the young girl whose grandfather he had killed at the mountaintop shrine. My working theory for the moment is that this bizarre confluence of relationships was either simply too much for Ryunosuke's mind to rationally process, or perhaps at a deeper, more existential level, he recognized most clearly, for the first time, the full extent to which he had been used as a tool by cosmic forces much larger than himself and simply lashed out in a final act of rebellion, a furious mad slaughter that sought to not only annihilate himself but, if possible, the entire world order that made necessary a wretched existence such as he had known. All of his training, his invincible immunity to even the most skillful and violent attacks, was now turned loose upon the source of its origins, if indeed that Prime Mover could ever be confronted face to face.
If not, a relentless frenzied bloodbath would have to suffice.
