subscribe to this pageMcKenzie, Andrew. "True Demon Bound by No Rules: AN INTRODUCTION TO CHARACTER AND VENGEANCE IN THE LONE WOLF AND CUB FILMS." Metro 148 (2006): 112-115. EBSCO. University of Pennsylvania. 10 Apr. 2008.
Andrew McKenzie’s essay, “A True Demon Bound by No Rules: An Introduction to Character and Vengeance in the Lone Wolf and Cub Films,” places the Lone Wolf and Cub series within the larger context of the Tokugawa Era (1600-1865), the Bushido (“the way of the warrior”), and the films’ reception.
Critics condemn the Lone Wolf and Cub series, arguing that the film’s masterless protagonist, Itto Ogami, is a caricature of the Tokugawa samurai. These critics allude to the meager and powerless existence of the historical ronin (masterless samurai). But McKenzie argues that Ogami’s unique freedom emphasizes the presence of feudal Japanese conventions. Without the existence of these customs, Ogami would not have a force against which to rebel. According to McKenzie, the primary targets of Ogami’s rebellion are the Bushido and the Eastern conception of fate. Ogami first violates Bushido code when he refuses an order from his superior to commit seppuku. McKenzie also cites Ogami’s disregard for his sword as a subversion of Bushido. In Bushido the sword is akin to the “soul of the samurai,” and its wielder should guard it at all costs. In his unorthodoxy however, Ogami hurls it like spear. Finally, McKenzie posits that “Belief in predestination or fate in Eastern culture is standard; Ogami however, simply refuses it” (McKenzie, 114).
The essay establishes Shogun Assassin’s (1980) historical relevance through Lone Wolf and Cub. Shogun Assassin, a reedited version of the first two Lone Wolf and Cub films, contains the same tropes of abandonment and rebellion against feudal convention. The films challenge the conventions and the authority of the Tokugawa era with their gruesome fight sequences. Because of the overt violence, McKenzie argues that critics incorrectly ignore the social and cultural implications of the film, and immediately assign it to the exploitation genre.
Call#: Van Pelt Library GV1100.77.A2 H87 1998
“Martial Arts and Japanese Culture,” the first chapter of Cameron Hurst’s book, Armed Martial Arts of Japan: Swordsmanship and Archery, examines the dichotomy between the function of martial arts in contemporary and medieval Japan. Furthermore, Hurst takes issue with the facile popular conception of the feudal Japanese warrior.
Hurst begins his study with a syntactical analysis of the Japanese terms applied to various schools of martial arts. By identifying the differences between contemporary and ancient Japanese characters for martial arts, Hurst documents the evolution of the sport. In opposition to the vast array of martial arts styles practiced today, the feudal samurai were primarily concerned with budE . But rarely did samurai use budE to refer to specific combat activities. Instead, “it represented a moral ideal for the samurai” (Hurst, 11). Hurst then transitions to an investigation of samurai military practices, citing that contrary to the widely held belief that the samurai was a “solitary wandering warrior” wielding a sword; the samurai were chiefly mounted archers. Hurst does concede however, that the sword did find prevalent usage by the beginning of the Tokugawa Shogunate (1600 AD). Hurst also corrects the widely held notion that the samurai were blood-lusting mongers. On the contrary, the Japanese viewed death and blood as forms of pollution and ritual impurity. He continues, “There were even taboos against causing bloodshed, incurring wounds, and being contaminated with blood” (Hurst, 21).
Hurst’s chapter provides a scholarly evaluation of Shogun Assassin’s (1980) historical inaccuracies. While he recognizes the sword’s popularity among Tokugawa samurai, he would take issue with the Shogun Assassin’s “wandering warrior” protagonist. He emphasizes that the samurai was predominately a mounted archer. Of course, Shogun Assassin is a chambara (swordplay) film, so its rampant swordfights are acceptable cinematically, if not historically. But in direct opposition to Hurst’s chapter, Shogun Assassin’s characters are obsessed with blood. One villain even describes aspirations of cutting a man across the neck so that the squirting blood makes the sound of a “wailing winter wind” (Shogun Assassin). In this way, Shogun Assassin’s producers pander to Western misconceptions about the samurai.
Call#: University Museum Library MUSEUM 915.2 N638.2a
First published in 1900, Inazo Nitobe’s book, Bushido: The Soul of Japan, attempts to justify the idiosyncrasies of Japanese culture and history to the Western world. Chapter twelve, entitled “The Institutions of Suicide and Redress,” examines the bewildering Japanese practices of ritual suicide and vengeance. Using biblical citations and examples in Classical mythology, Nitobe argues that self-immolation has a rich history in Western culture. By appealing to the Western ideal of balanced justice, Nitobe contends that Western society embraces vengeance too (when exacted properly).
For the samurai, seppuku, or ritual disembowelment was the preferred method of suicide. Dating back to the turn of the millennia, seppuku had numerous functions. Samurai used seppuku to set an example for other samurai, as a form of protest, or as a form of punishment. Most significantly, however, seppuku served as a form of atonement. The ceremony allowed a shamed samurai to die with honor. Nitobe however cautions, “The glorification seppuku offered, naturally enough, no small temptation to its unwarranted committal” (Nitobe, 85). Thus, rules and circumstances dictated when seppuku was appropriate. Nitobe condemns those that disemboweled themselves purely for the pursuit of honor.
Nitobe likens revenge to a mathematical equation, “until both terms of the equation are satisfied, we cannot get over the sense of something left undone” (Nitobe, 88). It is an “ethical court of equity, where people could take cases not to be judged in accordance with ordinary law” (Nitobe, 88). Vengeance also had its regulations. It was only justified when undertaken at the behest of one’s superiors. Consequently, a samurai should not pursue revenge against those who wronged him personally.
As Shogun Assassin (1980) is a story of revenge, Nitobe’s study obviously applies. Itto Ogami’s objective in the film is to exact vengeance on the Shogun, who had his wife and child assassinated. Nitobe’s code both supports and rebukes Ogami’s actions. While Nitobe states specifically, “One’s own wrongs, including injuries done to wife and children, were to be born and forgiven,” he also notes the importance of balanced justice. It is unclear whether Nitobe would condone Ogami’s actions, but the fact that there is room for discourse on the subject marks Shogun Assassin as a jidai-geki.
Call#: Van Pelt Library DS827.S3 S36 1995
Call#: Van Pelt Library DS827.S3 S36 1995
Call#: Van Pelt Library DS827.S3 S36 1995
Hagakure (literally “hidden in leaves”), written in the early 1700s by Tashiro Tsuramoto, is a spiritual guide for the samurai. Based on a series of conversations between the samurai Tashiro Tsuramoto and Yamamoto Tsunetomo, the book contains eleven volumes of observations about samurai life. Hiroaki Sato’s anthology of medieval Japanese texts, Legends of the Samurai, features an excerpt from Hagakure in which Tsunetomo muses on duty, honor, leadership, pretense, and death. While the passage’s subject matter seems to shift arbitrarily, one overarching theme makes itself quite apparent: the way of the warrior is to die.
Through a series of anecdotes, Tsunemoto illustrates the benefits of living prepared to die at any moment. He asserts that in order for a samurai to be useful to his retainer he must be willing to sacrifice himself. In this way, “someone of no special use can prove himself worthy of a thousand men at a time of emergency” (Tsunemoto in Sato, 288). It is through death, Tsunemoto continues, that the samurai achieves perfect harmony with his master. Additionally, to live in union with death ensures that one will live a mistake free life because, “In a situation with a choice, you can only choose at once to die” (Tsunemoto in Sato, 287). Thus if one always chooses death, one will never err. For instance, when seeking revenge, Tsunemoto claims the warrior must rush to battle immediately. He should be frantic with rage, unconcerned with the size of his opposition or the odds of his success. In fact, the samurai should attack his enemy with the soul purpose of dying. Any delay in retaliation indicates cowardice in the warrior and brings shame upon his character.
The Hagakure excerpt bears directly on Shogun Assassin (1980). The manifesto provided an ideological standard for the samurai of the time. Using this standard, one can judge the historical accuracy of the philosophy promulgated by Shogun Assassin, which takes place during the same era. The film espouses the same acceptance of death as Hagakure. At the beginning of the film, the protagonist, Itto Ogami, states, “Today I will begin walking the road to hell” (Shogun Assassin). The statement reflects Ogami’s mindset as he undertakes his mission of vengeance. He not only accepts death, he embraces it. Through Itto Ogami’s personification of the ideals of Hagakure, Shogun Assassin proves itself a jidai-geki (Japanese period piece).
Call#: Van Pelt Library PN1993.5.J3 S72 2005
The chapter, "Speed and Movement in Chambara: Stylistic Conventions," from Isolde Standish's book, A New History of Japanese Cinema, examines the use and function of speed in its application to the human body and filming technique. Standish argues that Japanese film uses speed as a "mimetic response to the mechanical ordering of temporality" (Standish, 97). In contrast to Western directors, who frequently used the convention to reflect mechanized industry's effect on the human timetable, Japanese films glorify the process through "spectacle and display" (Standish, 97). Standish grounds her polemic with examples from Japanese theater and early Japanese cinema.
The section attributes Japanese cinema's emphasis on speed to two sources: reactionary sentiment to a rigidly stratified society and the shinkokugeki theater movement. Standish ascribes chambara's (sword-play film) appeal to its visceral effects. The physical freedom of the chambara's characters "provided subjective moments of corporeal intensity and fantasy" (Standish, 99). Images of movement fascinated young Japanese men, who felt constricted by society. The shinkokugeki theater movement of the early 1920s introduced the display of realistic sword fighting scenes on stage. The new style was much more exciting than the detached, suggestive style of kubuki theater. Japanese filmmakers combined real sword fights with filming techniques like long tracking shots and crosscuts over different parallel lines of action to accentuate on screen movement.
Standish's chapter enumerates the different tropes of the chambara. Using her criteria, one can evaluate the effect of Shogun Assassin's (1980) use of speed, movement, and editing. Ogami Itto's fencing skills seem inhuman: his blade often moves too fast for the eye to see. Furthermore, Shogun Assassin uses crosscuts in every fight scene. The shots, which shift between Ogami and his opponents, maintain focus on all characters involved without sacrificing tension. Finally, Shogun Assassin culminates with a tachimawari, or a "climactic sword-fight scene" (Standish, 98). Standish claims that the tachimawari is the hallmark of the chambara film, as it features the most pace and movement.
Call#: Van Pelt Library PN1993.5.J3 R44 1992
Call#: Van Pelt Library PN1993.5.J3 R44 1992
Call#: Van Pelt Library--4 East--Temporary Location Annenberg PN1993.5.J3 R44 1992
Call#: Van Pelt Library--4 East--Temporary Location Annenberg PN1993.5.J3 R44 1992
David Desser's essay, "Towards a Structural Analysis of the Postwar Samurai Film," outlines the sub-genres of samurai film, describes their properties, and examines their cultural implications. The first of Desser's sub-genres is the "nostalgic samurai drama." The chief characteristic of the grouping is what Desser calls "mono no aware." The term refers to a "feeling of sweet sadness, or an almost inexpressible sensation of life's mortality, which is pleasantly painful" (Desser, 148). Characters in these films are generally "powerless yet proud samurai," condemned by the society that created them. However, he does not rebel against the system, instead he "takes the path of righteousness out of a sense of obligation" (Desser, 149). Next, Desser discusses the "anti-feudal drama." The anti-feudal drama, a reaction to America's post-war presence in Japan, tracked its hero from a position of prominence to his ruin. In these films, self-hatred replaces mono no aware. The anti-feudal drama is also more violent than the nostalgic samurai drama, as the protagonist must rage against the flawed conventions of society. Finally, Desser analyzes the "sword film," or chambara. While the author admits that critics generally apply the term chambara as a pejorative, he believes the sword film to be the "most interesting and revealing of all the sub-genres within samurai film" (Desser, 155). The Western viewer's inability to appreciate chambara stems from the movement’s extreme aesthetization of violence, specifically, gores. Sword films use violence as a kind of nihilism. Furthermore, the genre subverts Bushido (“the way of the warrior”) through the meaninglessness of death.
Through Desser’s essay, we can classify Shogun Assassin (1980) within the larger context of the samurai film. The film most fits the conventions of the chambara. Its slow motion decapitations, spurting blood, and high body count all work to undermine the established order. Desser’s assertion that the film’s movement provides both an agenda and an aesthetic, denotes artistry unfound in the exploitation film.
Call#: Van Pelt Library PN1995.9.S24 S5 2005
Section 6.3 of Alain Silver’s book, The Samurai Film, entitled “The Red Slayers,” suggests that the gory content and pitiless heroes of the 1970s’ chambara films (Japanese swordplay films) act as a historical corrective of the cynical samurai films of the 1960s. These films, critical of the Romantic conception of the samurai, featured self-sacrificing heroes who championed humanity and subverted violence to question popularized notions of “samurai honor.” While the protagonist of the 1970s chambara film also rejected “samurai honor,” he “manifests his or her rejection of those false standards not merely with words but with actions” (Silver, 221).
Silver also documents the increased self-interest of the 1970’s filmic samurai. His denunciation of the samurai code transcends the typically griped about tenants of fealty until death and honor at all costs. This “new hero” denies humanitarian values in favor of his own advancement or survival (Silver, 221). Samurai betray other samurai to further their careers (Furin kazan) and warriors rob from peasants with a disregard for civic duty. The section culminates with Silver’s ruminations on Itto Ogami, the central character of Shogun Assassin and the Lone Wolf and Cub series. For Silver, Ogami is the paradigm “new hero.” He is a ruthless killer driven by his instinct to survive. He cannot afford to lay down his weapon, “because he is locked into a time where to do so is to perish” (Silver, 223). Silver also provides some examples from the Lone Wolf and Cub saga to illustrate Ogami’s skepticism about the “way of the samurai.”
By including Lone Wolf and Cub (and transitively Shogun Assassin) in his evaluation of 1970s chambara films, Silver grants the film does provide historical insight. The section implies the film’s director, Kenji Misumi, attempted to define the true objectives of the samurai: money, social status, and survival. He accepts Lone Wolf and Cub as a new revision of a historical icon.
Vincent Canby’s review of Shogun Assassin (1980) is scathing, but warranted. He begins his diatribe with a critique of the film’s child narrator, Daigoro, the protagonist’s son. Canby finds Daigoro’s commentary on the film’s bloody action “pricelessly funny” because of his matter of fact tone and perpetual understatement. The columnist applies the brunt of criticism to the film’s script, “Shogun Assassin…is as furiously mixed up as What’s Up Tiger Lilly? the classic that Woody Allen made by attaching an English soundtrack to a grade-Z Japanese spy movie.” He sums up the film’s plot quite simply, as the story of a “tubby, outcast samurai wandering the length and breadth of Japan.” Though Canby appreciates some of the film’s photography, the movie’s intense violence and gore disturb him. Ultimately, Canby concludes, “the movie is an unimportant joke.”
The review illustrates Shogun Assassin’s reception in the United States as an exploitation film. The film’s director, Robert Houston, and writers, Houston and David Weisman, spliced together scenes from the first two installments of the Japanese Lone Wolf and Cub series, fabricated a script, and then dubbed the footage. The film enjoyed moderate success as its release coincided with television’s airing of the epic miniseries “Shogun” (based on James Clavell’s novel). But in marketing Shogun Assassin within the context of more traditional samurai films, Houston and Weisman did the movie a tremendous disservice. Viewers like Vincent Canby attended the film with expectations formed from such legendary Japanese directors as Akira Kurosawa, Masaki Kobayashi, and Hiroshi Inagaki. Shogun Assassin however, is an adaptation of the manga series Lone Wolf and Cub. Thus, the film requires a different set of criteria for judgment. The movie’s unrealistic fight sequences and unlikely heroes are firmly rooted in its manga predecessor. Yet Shogun Assassin’s distributors were not interested in its artistic or cultural heritage; they were interested in turning a profit.
Call#: Van Pelt Library PN1995.9.S24 G35 2005
Patrick Galloway’s review of Lone Wolf and Cub: Sword of Vengeance (1972) provides an acclamatory summary and informed analysis. Central to Galloway’s review are Lone Wolf and Cub’s origins in manga and its extreme violence. Galloway explains, “The Lone Wolf and Cub Saga, six films in all (1972-1974), was adapted from the popular manga of the same name” (Galloway, 151). The critic praises the film for its efforts to capture the “spurting gore” of the comics. But the movie’s relationship to its predecessors transcends imagery. Galloway argues that the film emulates the psychotic conceptual framework of the manga. In this way, Lone Wolf and Cub propagates a sense of destruction and rage, unprecedented in samurai film. This ambience allows the viewer to understand Itto Ogami’s “bloodlust [and] twisted Bushido rationalizations” (Galloway, 153).
The review classifies Lone Wolf and Cub as a chambara (swordplay film), which is a form of jidai-geki (period film). While this serves the thesis of the paper, it is more important to note the artistic deference Galloway pays the film. The article takes pains to illustrate director Kenji Misumi’s efforts to replicate the manga’s look and feel. Even in his criticism of the film, Galloway is careful to use the Lone Wolf and Cub manga as his measuring stick. He faults the director for allowing the static quality of the manga’s sequenced picture frames to transfer onto the film. Galloway also castigates Robert Houston and David Weisman, Lone Wolf and Cub’s American adaptors, for their shoddy reedited film Shogun Assassin. The writer and director ignored the nuances of the original story and implanted a ridiculously dubbed script. Though focusing on two different films, the contrast between Galloway’s meticulous study of Shogun Assassin’s progenitor and Vincent Canby’s biting New York Times review emphasizes Shogun Assassin’s marketing and reception as an exploitation film. The public did not recognize Shogun Assassin as a stylized reproduction of manga; rather it was just another poorly dubbed film from Asia.
Call#: Van Pelt Library NC1766.J3 P37 2004
In his article Anime: Subliminal Lessons in Japanese History, Fred Patten examines history’s influence on manga and anime. Specifically, Patten evaluates manga and anime as educational sources of Japanese history. Through an investigation of reoccurring characters and themes in Japanese cartoons, Patten proves that the entertainment mediums possess historical value and provide cultural insight.
Patten focuses on the legendary samurai Jubei Yagyu, “many historical dramas involving samurai and ninja during the 1600s have references to an invincible swordsman named Jubei or Jubei Yagyu, or to a whole Yagyu clan” (Patten, 283). Most prominently, Yoshiaki Kawajiri’s film, Ninja Scroll (1993), features a ninja named Jubei as its protagonist. In Kazuo Koike and Goseki Kojima’s manga, Lone Wolf and Cub, the Yagyu frame Itto Ogami, the story’s hero, for plotting against the Shogun. The character and the clan find their progenitor in the early seventeenth century, at the advent of the Tokugawa Shogunate. Jubei Yagyu, son of clan founder Munenori Yagyu, was born in 1606. Jubei trained in the Shinkage School of swordsmanship before the Imperial court recruited him as an instructor. Retsudo Yagyu, Jubei’s younger brother, appears as a villain in the Lone Wolf and Cub series.
Sixteenth century warlord, Oda Nobunaga is also found in numerous references in anime and manga. Nobunaga, whose military campaigns unified Japan, also slaughtered some thirty-seven thousand peasants who refused to renounce Christianity. Thus, anime’s portrayal of the commander ranges from the reverent depiction of a wise and progressive old general, to the ominous illustrations of a demon-possessed executioner.
The article illustrates Shogun Assassin’s (1980) historical basis. The Lone Wolf and Cub manga series discussed earlier was the foundation for the Lone Wolf and Cub films that followed. American producers would later splice the Lone Wolf and Cub films together to create Shogun Assassin.