Synopsis: Itto
Ogami (Tomisaburo Wakayama), former Shogunate executioner, wanders the countryside with
his young son, Daigoro (Akihiro Tomikawa), whom he pushes in a wooden cart, hiring himself
and his child out to anyone who can pay for their services. An elderly woman rents the
child, so that her daughter, driven insane by betrayal and the death of her own baby, can
breastfeed him. Ogami refuses payment, as this transaction provided a meal for Daigoro. It
begins to rain. Covering his child, Ogami thinks back to another rainy day two years
earlier…. Ogami’s wife, Azami (Reiko Kasahara), confesses to him that she has
been suffering a recurrent dream about the spirits of those that he has executed. Ogami
takes the baby Daigoro and goes to his personal shrine, where he performs a ceremony to
honour the dead. In his absence, a band of assassins breaks into the house. Ogami hears
Azami’s cries of agony, and runs to the house. Azami lives long enough only to touch
her son’s cheek with bloody fingers, then dies in her husband’s arms. Ogami
discovers that the rest of the household has been murdered as well. He swears a terrible
vengeance…. Ogami receives an official visit from Superintendent Bizen Yagyu
(Taketoshi Naito), who tells him that three samurai accused him of treason against the
Shogun, claiming that evidence could be found in his shrine, then committed seppuku
as proof of their sincerity. Within the shrine, Ogami is stunned to find the Shogun’s
mortuary tablet. He then realises that the Superintendent’s men have armed
themselves, and put on sword-proof mail. In a fury, Ogami accuses Yagyu of plotting
against him, claiming that he is one of the "Black Yagyu", an offshoot of the
genuine Yagyu clan, who are led by one Retsudo Yagyu (Yunosuke Oki) and are using
treachery and murder to bring themselves into positions of power. Yagyu admits the plot,
ordering his men to kill Ogami, but the swordsman slaughters his adversaries. Ogami sees
Retsudo Yagyu watching from a distance, and again swears that he will have revenge….
Ogami and Daigoro enter a small village, where Ogami is hired to dispatch four treacherous
samurai and their band of mercenaries, who plan to kill the rightful heir to their
fiefdom’s throne and establish a puppet government. As Ogami sets out, he sees two
children playing with a ball. This triggers more memories…. Convicted of treason and
ordered to commit seppuku, Ogami makes a fateful decision: he will refuse the order
and become a paid assassin, until he can fulfil his vows of vengeance against the Yagyu.
But what of the infant Daigoro? Grimly, Ogami places before the child a sword and a ball.
If the boy chooses the former, he will become an outcast like his father; the latter, and
he will be sent to join his mother….
Comments: Sword Of Vengeance
was the first of six films adapted between 1972 and 1974 from the incredible 110 volume manga
by Kazuo Koike and Goseki Kojima, films that are generally known collectively as the
"Lone Wolf and Cub" or the "Baby Cart" series. Upon a first viewing, Sword
Of Vengeance often strikes viewers as both strangely familiar, and strangely unfamiliar.
During the late seventies, Roger Corman’s New World Pictures acquired the rights to
both Sword Of Vengeance and the second entry in the series, Baby Cart At The
River Styx. The two films were edited, the footage cobbled together and dubbed, and
the result released to Western audiences as Shogun Assassin. Somewhat ironically,
this patchwork effort probably turned far more people onto Asian cinema than the
"pure" version of either film could have done on its own, by providing an
astonishingly compressed view of just how extreme Asian cinema could be. When the two
films were cut together, what was kept was, of course, "the good bits" –
that is, the incredible fight scenes that make up a portion of Sword Of Vengeance,
and a great deal of Baby Cart At The River Styx. (It comes as no surprise that far
more of the latter film than the former ended up in Shogun Assassin. And indeed, so
very good were those "good bits" that Shogun Assassin eventually
found itself caught up in the British "video nasty" furore of the mid-eighties.)
Conversely, what ended up on the cutting-room floor was the "boring stuff", the
background material that introduces the audience to its anti-hero, Itto Ogami. While Shogun
Assassin found a clever way of telling its story without diverting from the action too
much (the film is narrated by the child, Daigoro; amusingly, his voice is provided by, of
all people, Sandra Bernhard!), the fact is that the stories of Shogun Assassin and Sword
Of Vengeance are quite different. It is possible to watch Sword Of Vengeance,
and indeed the entire "Lone Wolf and Cub" series", purely for the action
scenes – and I imagine that a lot of people do so – but to ignore the story
elements is to rob this saga of much of its richness. To be appreciated, the Lone Wolf
must first be understood, and for modern audiences, particularly Western audiences,
this is not a simple matter. The opening scene of Sword Of Vengeance is nothing
short of horrifying. We are introduced to Itto Ogami in the performance of his duty as
Shogunate executioner, "helping" a condemned prisoner to commit seppuku.
Shockingly, the prisoner is nothing but a child, scarcely more than a toddler, who is
almost lost amongst his white death robes, his bewildered expression leaving the viewer
distressingly uncertain whether he understands what is happening or not. As the child sits
motionless, unresisting, Ogami steps up behind him and draws his sword….
Even though this is the one act of violence
in Sword Of Vengeance that is not depicted explicitly, it is probably the most
disturbing. It also illustrates the magnitude of the task that the film sets before the
viewer, who must come to terms with a time and a society when the slaughter---sorry, the execution
of small children (or "terminating the bloodline", as the Shogun himself puts
it) was an accepted thing; when the post of executioner was not only an honourable one,
but so desirable that others would commit murder and treason in order to obtain it; and
when death was not something to be feared but, on the contrary, very often to be embraced.
Perhaps the best example of the latter comes in the form of two followers of the official
who will eventually hire Ogami to kill the rebel samurai. In an attempt to determine
whether this paid assassin is indeed the notorious Itto Ogami, the official orders the
other two, both skilled swordsmen, to attack him, reasoning that if they can kill him,
obviously he was not Ogami. On the other hand, if he kills them….
"I hope that he will kill us!" enthuses one of the underlings, and
needless to say, he gets his wish. (This is one of my favourite moments in the film: while
negotiating with the official, Ogami is attacked from behind by the two swordsmen, and
kills them without even bothering to look around. He then resumes negotiations.)
As Sword Of Vengeance unfolds, it becomes apparent that Ogami is a man who
lives by a brutally rigid, all-consuming code of honour. He must do so. Nothing
else could make the commission of the kinds of deeds that he is ordered to carry out
possible. His loyalty to the Shogun is unshakeable, even though it is clear to the
audience, if not to Ogami himself, that hatred and paranoia, not justice, are behind many
of the ordered executions. (Intriguingly, Ogami’s wife, Azami, obviously has severe
doubts about the righteousness of this rash of executions; as we meet her, she confesses
that the spirits of the dead are beginning to haunt her dreams.) But when the evil
"Black Yagyu" clan sets its traitorous plot in motion, Ogami is betrayed by the
Shogun, who condemns him without even granting him a hearing. It is this act of broken
faith on the part of the lord he has served so loyally as much as the assassinations and
treachery committed by the Yagyus that compels Ogami to the enormity of refusing the
Shogun’s order to kill himself. As we watch Ogami setting out upon his single-minded
quest, we come to understand that his sense of personal honour has not been
touched, despite his betrayal and suffering; the "Lone Wolf" is now as loyal to
himself, to his own beliefs, as he once was to the Shogun.
Ogami’s quest, however single-minded, is
not entirely a solitary one, of course. His young son, Daigoro, a baby of one when his
mother was murdered, and now a child of three, accompanies him on his journey. Perhaps the
most famous scene in Sword Of Vengeance comes when Ogami forces his infant son to
"choose" his own path, by offering him both a sword and a ball. If the boy
chooses the sword, he will become an outcast like his father; the ball, and he will be
"sent to join his late mother" – by his father. After what we have
already witnessed in this film, we have no doubt that Ogami will kill the boy instantly
should he choose the ball; and yet had this come to pass, it would not have been an act of
brutality, or indifference, or evidence of a selfish desire not to be burdened with the
boy, but genuinely an act of love. This is perhaps the time when an understanding of the
film’s attitude towards death becomes absolutely critical. Ogami hopes that his son will
choose the ball, not because he does not love him, but because he honestly believes that
the boy would be better off dead. Ogami himself may have chosen to "tread the path of
demons", but it is not what he wants for his son. However, having made his
child’s life or death a matter of destiny, when Daigoro chooses the sword, Ogami is
compelled to abide by it. The two set out on their fateful journey, Daigoro in the wooden
cart that bestows upon this set of films one of its many alternative titles – and
which, as the series progresses, will prove to be considerably more than just a
baby cart. (Sword Of Vengeance is not, by any stretch of the imagination, a film
that encourages facetious thought, but I couldn’t help reflecting that Ogami’s
situation represented one of the more interesting depictions of the eternal problem of
juggling parenthood with a career.)
The relationship between Ogami and his son is
one of the film’s most fascinating aspects, and is all the more so for, in a sense,
being told backwards. As indicated, we first see Ogami executing the infant Lord Hirotada;
our next view of him is out on the road, carrying a banner that, among other things,
offers to rent out his own child. Neither of these things exactly encourages the audience
to take a sympathetic view of Ogami, and nor does the ronin’s habitually grim
expression; but as the story progresses, we slowly come to an understanding of the sincere
love that the Lone Wolf bears for his Cub. This initially becomes evident when Ogami and
Daigoro enter the town where Ogami’s assignment is to be carried out. The rogue
samurai and their hired bandits are not only there, they have taken over; and as Ogami
pushes Daigoro’s cart into town, he – and we – are confronted by the sight
of a village woman being brutally raped. Swiftly, Ogami pulls the cover over the cart. One
of the bandits, noticing this instinctive movement, jeers, "Fatherly love, protecting
him from such a brutal scene?" – and that is precisely what is going on.
(An arresting layer of moral ambiguity enters the story here since not only does Ogami do
nothing to shield Daigoro from the sight of himself making mince-meat of anyone who
challenges him, but he occasionally uses the boy as a weapon, as we shall see.) But more
overt evidence of the real relationship between Ogami and Daigoro is to come. Ironically
enough, one of the most startling moments in the entire film is also one of the quietest,
as we are permitted a glimpse of Ogami and Daigoro bathing in a spa, with Ogami gently
splashing the giggling child with water, and smiling. In the overall context of the
film, which contains a parade of incredibly intense violence – most of it committed
by Ogami himself – this moment of playfulness is so unexpected as to be almost
shocking; and indeed, it is no more than a moment. Ogami’s mask immediately
slams back into place – because, it seems, he has noticed that we are
watching, but in reality because someone else has entered the spa. Brief as it is, this
scene allows us a much greater understanding of our anti-hero. Far from being a mere
killing machine, he is a man of genuine emotion, no matter how vice-like the hold he keeps
upon it. This knowledge adds immeasurably to the interest and complexity of the Lone Wolf
stories.
One of the main features of the Edo period of
Japanese history was the emergence of Neo-Confucianism, a particularly secular form of
orthodoxy that was introduced to Japan by Ieyasu Tokugawa during his Shogunate. Among
other things, Neo-Confucianism had a huge impact upon the place of the samurai in Japanese
society. Formerly little more than an uncultured fighting force, the samurai were suddenly
raised to a level of privilege, and made a social caste of their own, one responsible for
setting an example of devotion to duty, and of unswerving honour and morality. (Something
not readily apparent during Sword Of Vengeance is that this period in Japan’s
history was essentially one of peace; the changes to the role of the samurai were
made primarily because the warrior class no longer had much to do.) Society at this time
was divided into four separate classes – the samurai, the farmers, the artisans and
the merchants (outcasts of society, the eta, formed an unofficial fifth class)
– and individuals were forbidden to move from their own caste. The story of Sword
Of Vengeance manages to encompass all of these levels of society, as it moves from the
court at Edo, through various towns and villages, then ends up at a health spa patronised
by ill samurai. On this journey we meet not only the Lone Wolf himself, with his
inflexible code of honour, but the evil Black Yagyu and their ninja assassins; loyal
fiefdom officials; Sugito and the other rogue samurai, who plot against their feudal lord;
the various villagers whom Ogami encounters; the bandits hired by Sugito; and last and
least – or so it seems at first – a prostitute, Osen. One of the overwhelming
impressions left by Sword Of Vengeance is that the Tokugawa Shogunate was –
surprise, surprise – not a good time to be a woman. We meet only five women in
the course of the story. The first is Azami, whose position of privilege leads only to her
death, as she is murdered by the Yagyu. On the road, we see a young townswoman, driven
insane by betrayal and the death of her child, and her elderly mother, who has the
thankless task of trying to care for her unbalanced daughter; while later, a village woman
is literally raped to death, something the bandits responsible have a good laugh over. And
finally, there is Osen.
The final section of Sword Of Vengeance
takes place at the Gonomori Spa, where Ogami is sent to kill those who plot against the
Lord Noriyuki. He arrives to find the situation even more dangerous than he has been led
to believe. The bandits hired by Sugito have taken control of the town, and are keeping
both the local villagers and the samurai who were visiting the spa for their health in
subjugation. Ogami himself is met at the bridge leading into the village, where his sword
is confiscated and his life threatened. He succeeds in convincing the bandits that his
arrival is a coincidence, that he is only there for health reasons ("Would I bring a
child here otherwise?" he argues), and he is escorted in. One glance is all he needs
to sum up the situation. Ogami accepts that he must bide his time, and adopts an attitude
of the utmost neutrality: a stance interpreted as pusillanimity by bandit and captive
samurai alike. Indeed, the other samurai, bitterly ashamed of their inability (or
unwillingness) to combat the bandits, vent their frustration upon Ogami, making him the
subject of constant derision and abuse. Paradoxically, it is only the prostitute, Osen,
who can recognise the qualities that mark the former Shogunate executioner, and who
understands almost instinctively that Ogami’s façade of cowardice is exactly that.
Granted, Osen has, as she herself later puts it, "known a lot of men";
still, this scarcely explains the almost psychic bond that forms between herself and Ogami
as they take their respective stands against the bandits. Already we have seen that the
girl, a social outcast of the most despised kind, has been the only one with backbone
enough to stand up to the bandits, even if only verbally. When the bandits, frustrated by
Ogami’s lack of response to their insults, make a move to provoke action from him by
threatening Daigoro, Osen instantly intervenes, cleverly deflecting the bandits’
attention back to Ogami himself with a sneering speech about the samurai’s timidity.
Finally, however, Osen pushes her luck too far: the bandits decide to punish her, and
amuse themselves, by forcing her to have public sex with Ogami. The horrified girl
cringes, hesitates – and then the decision is taken out of her hands by Ogami, who
without a word begins to disrobe. What follows is one of the strangest and most beautiful
scenes in the whole film, as what was intended as punishment, as public humiliation for
both Ogami and Osen, is transformed by camerawork and editing into a most tender and
intimate encounter. Of course, Ogami’s willing self-degradation is interpreted by the
other captives as still further evidence of his spinelessness, but Osen knows better:
sensing that she was on the verge of suicide, Ogami acted not to save himself, but her.
"A samurai sacrifice his pride for a woman like me!" she moans, in full
and painful consciousness of the magnitude of Ogami’s gesture. The consequence is
inevitable. When Sword Of Vengeance reaches its conclusion, it is with a scene like
many seen in American movies over the years: the "fallen woman" gazing
helplessly, longingly, after the hero as he walks away from her, accepting that she is
morally unfit for him despite her courage and her love for him. Yet here Osen is not
rejected because she is not "good enough" for Ogami, but simply because the Lone
Wolf and his Cub must make their own way along the bloody path that they have chosen,
alone.
But before that happens, there must naturally
be the showdown between Ogami and those he has been hired to kill. Preparing for their
assassination job, the bandits decide to kill all the captive samurai to keep them from
talking. One of the men obligingly kneels down to commit seppuku, but demands a
"decapitator" to help him. The elderly leader of the bandits has been convinced
all along that he has seen Ogami somewhere before, and at this, the penny drops, and with
a vengeance: he realises exactly who the "coward" in their midst is. (If
this guy’s expression had been subtitled, we’d all know what’s Japanese
for, "Oh, shit!!") But by then it is too late; Ogami is already making
his move. We then learn that Daigoro’s cart is much more than it appears: from it
Ogami produces weapon after weapon, mowing down his enemies in an orgy of bloodletting. At
one point in the fight, Osen again proves her worth, swooping in to snatch up Daigoro and
carry him to safety, thus allowing Ogami to use the metal-plated cart to shield himself
from one of the rogue samurai, who unexpectedly uses pistols. Samurai and bandits
alike fall under Ogami’s sword, until every one of them lies dead, and the captives
are freed. Not that Ogami cares much for that; he has fulfilled his commission and
earned his pay, and it is time for him to move on.
The "Lone Wolf and Cub" films are
famous, not to say notorious, for the extremity of their fight scenes. At times it seems
as if the films exist only to demonstrate how many different ways you can kill someone
with a sword. When Ogami goes into action, it is at all times to kill, and preferably with
one blow. Heads roll, limbs are lopped off and, in one memorable instance, a pair of feet
remain standing while their owner lies beside them, screaming in agony. Arteries are
severed, and blood erupts from the wounds in literal geysers. Yet for all that, there is
an undeniable beauty to much of what we see, even to the scenes of violence.
Appropriately, given the film’s origins, the production design is very stylised; many
scenes look exactly like frames of the manga from which they were derived. (In
keeping with this aesthetic, the "blood" is fairly obviously red paint, which
does serve to take the queasiness factor down a notch or two.) One of the most sumptuous
of all the scenes in Sword Of Vengeance is the opening sequence of the execution of
the boy Daimyo, which contains an absolutely stunning use of white on white on
white. Other scenes, particularly those that take place out of doors, are simply
breathtaking. This is perhaps most evident during Ogami’s battle against a
representative of the Black Yagyu. Having failed to either arrest or kill Ogami, let alone
convince him to kill himself, and having looked on while a good number of his clansmen
were cut to pieces, Retsudo Yagyu finally offers Ogami a deal: a final duel, himself
against a chosen Yagyu swordsman; if he wins, he and Daigoro will be allowed to leave Edo
unmolested. Ogami accepts. The fight takes place at dawn, in a field full of long, swaying
grass. As the two warriors face each other, Retsudo gloats mentally that Ogami must
fall: the Yagyu swordsman has the sun at his back, while Ogami has Daigoro bundled onto
his. But the executioner has an unexpected manoeuvre up his sleeve. The two men charge at
each other, and at the last instant Ogami bends over. We see that Daigoro has a small
mirror bound to his forehead. The reflected sunlight blinds the Yagyu swordsman for just
an instant, and that is long enough for Ogami. There is almost a freeze-frame when the
blow has been struck, one of quite unearthly beauty: the rising sun, the mountain in the
background, the gently swaying grass, Ogami standing motionless with Daigoro on his back
and his sword in his hand – and the decapitated body, still upright, gushing blood
into the air…. Sword Of Vengeance carries an intense, pulsing score by Hideaki
Sakurai, and while that is very effective, equally so is the film’s occasional use of
silence, particularly at moments of death. Here, we are left listening to the wind in the
grass; after an earlier battle, it was to the sound of a waterfall. If you have the
stomach for it, the film is an artistic delight. The direction of Kenji Misumi is
excellent throughout, but particularly so in the many fight scenes, where it is as clean
and forceful as Ogami’s sword strokes. Also immensely enjoyable is Tomisaburo
Wakayama’s interpretation of the character of Ogami. With his grim visage, stoic
demeanour, and growling voice, Wakayama’s performance is simply indelible. And then
there’s Akihiro Tomikawa as Daigoro. You know – generally speaking, I’m not
really into "cute", but here I have to admit it: the little dickens is cuter
than a basketful of kittens. Personally, I can hardly wait to settle in with Baby Cart
At The River Styx, and see what happens next to the Lone Wolf and his Cub.
Want a second opinion? Visit Stomp Tokyo
and The
Unknown Movies for reviews of Sword Of Vengeance, and The Bad Movie Report
for a review of Shogun Assassin.
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Director: Kenji
Misumi