THE HIDDEN BLADE

Continuing to explore the universal themes of duty, friendship, love, and familial conflict explored with such depth and precision in The Twilight Samurai (2002), Yoji Yamada's The Hidden Blade is an emotionally provocative drama that interweaves the rigid code of the Samurai with the chaotic yearnings of the human heart. Achieving a rare symbiosis of formalized violence and emotional conflict, Yamada makes wise use atmosphere and setting to reflect (and lend further emotional power to) his film's themes of isolation, lust for personal freedom, and the paradoxical beauty/tragedy of a culture that often asked its people to sacrifice precisely that which it most valued. Focusing not simply on carefully photographed physical settings, Yamada is just as careful to evoke internal mood, using the stormy conditions of a mind in conflict with itself to add further tension to a modern tragedy of unsympathetic loyalties and impossible love.

Both a lyrically told surface story of the warrior-life and a serious reflection of the internal political and social mechanisms that lurked beneath the everyday emotions of the lower-caste Samurai, this fable of mercilessly changing times, honor, and the eternal quest for power crushing quest for power is neither ridiculously heroic or nihilistic. In fact, it walks the fine line of serious drama with conscience and a depth of feeling impossible to fault. Setting and atmosphere are both integral to this approach. While capturing the heroism and grace of the Samurai with undeniable authority, this is no grandstanding action film. Character is more important herein than high-powered kicks and limb-severing. The Hidden Blade captures the intense conflicts of the individual asked to choose between love, his clan, and his honor. Exchanging the mystically-charged magical realism of such recent hits as Hero and House of Flying Daggers for a more rewarding realism of action, character, and consequences, Yamada crafts a movie rooted in the bleeding soil of believability. Achieving an admirable realism with competent acting, a confidently structured narrative, and action sequences that thrill without stretching possibility, the filmmakers invite our empathy for characters evoked with all the pain and glory of life itself.

Working off the short stories of Shuhei Fujisawa, the film depicts a warrior that is both an intimate character with his own undeniable history and passions and a fixture of a larger social caste -- the later of which demands a loyalty which leaves little room for romantic love. In a story as complex in its levels of external and internal conflict as it is provocative in its subtleties of political and personal power plays, the screenplay (written by Yamada and Yoshitaka Asama.) introduces us to Munezo Katagiri (Masatoshi Nagase), a samurai compelled to rescue Kie (Takako Matsu), the one-time family maid, who has been married off to the Iseya Family. Abused and degraded by her current husband's family, Munezo brings her to his household, where she blossoms back into health and good spirits. As no good deed goes unpunished, this show of affection for someone below his social status puts him in bad standing, a threat compounded when his old friend Yaichiro, a superior swordsman, is accused of plotting against the government. Distrusted and suspected by his own clan elders for his friendship with Yaichiro, Munezo is ordered to kill a man he loves like a brother, and whom he doubts he shall be able to defeat. Even as an unacknowledged love develops between Munezo and Kie, the Samurai's fidelity is challenged by corrupt superiors, spurring him to personal revelation and a heartache which is mirrored physically by a dual that calls into question not simply physical life but the fate of an entire way of life. Calling upon Kansai Toda, an old and trusted teacher, Munezo learns the power of 'the hidden sword,' but can he deal as masterfully with his own sense of loss and turmoil?

Drafting its locale, time period, and cultural resonance as symbolic mirrors with which to compare and contrast their characters against, the story takes place during an age of social flux and modernization in Japan, evoking a culture torn in a shadow-land between a comfortable if corrupt past and an even deadlier future which, in effect, mirrors (and lends further substance to) the characters who are likewise torn between ages, loyalties, and expectations. The director captures mid-19th century society with a deftness that is neither cynical nor overly idealized, saving the film from becoming a parody or exercise in nationalism. Investigating the internal, cultural, and national conflict that occurred in the people of Japan when European weaponry and methods of fighting were forced into the once elegant and formalized fighting philosophy, a surprisingly successful tone of comedic satire is captured in the bumbling of soldiers untrained in using instruments at odds with their philosophy. Of interest is the shadowy sub-text underlying these scenes of corruption and decadence, both having infiltrated Japanese society. The new dependence on impersonal weapons and dishonorable methods of fighting mirror a heightened awareness of corruptness in political constructs. In this manner, the movie is just as much about the conflicts and evolving nature of society as it is a poignant, painful, yet undeniably gorgeous story of loss.

One senses that the director's sentiments are with the hero -- and the Samurai tradition. A love for tradition, honor, and spiritual harmony -- even at great cost -- imbue the film with a lasting resonance, lending it the cultural pathos of tragedy. In the character of Munezo are layered the admirable characteristics of an honest man, attempting to navigate his stony way through a maze of familial obligation, political intrigue, and a love that is doomed to remain unfulfilled. His character is supported by a believable heroine whose battered spirit finds sustenance under the loving guidance of a household that cares for her. The decidedly un-stylized dimensions of these actors lend their performances believability. Mirrored by sets whose deterioration represents the corruption of society, the performances are subtle, and invite empathy precisely because they lack moral posturing.

A modern mortality tale, The Hidden Sword is as diverse in its cinematic and storytelling influences as it is rich in themes of social significance. Easily every bit as much an Asian re-telling of the Western Epic tradition, re-telling with increased sensitivity and a particularly Eastern slant the archetypal Heroic Quest, this Samurai's version of Beawulf combines grimly lyrical swordplay with conscience, ambiguity, and heart. Lending cosmic themes personal focus, Munezo's search for honor, fidelity, and Self could just as easily be everyman's personal journey. An undeniable triumph of storytelling.

Review by William P. Simmons