West By East By West: The Influence of Kurosawa on the West and Vice Versa

Throughout its history, Japan has always championed its culture above outside influence. It grudgingly accepted missionaries in the 16th century only because they could provide ships, goods, gold and guns. In the 1860s, the nation reluctantly opened its ports to international trade when the United States’ Commodore Perry showcased his fleet’s military force. Cinematically, early Japanese filmmakers, due to government involvement, crafted a style of their own based on Noh theater, patient minimalism, and quiet introspection that was clearly distinct from Western film of the same period.
 
Akira Kurosawa, however, was not content to continue this isolated protocol. In post-WWII Japan, at a time when his homeland was being occupied by the United States, Kurosawa chose to look toward and embrace certain Western ideologies of filmmaking. He used Shakespeare and American pulp novels as source material, and embraced Hollywood narrative styles and filmmaking techniques. Combining these elements with his own training in the Japanese studio system, Kurosawa was one of the early purveyors of a truly international style, a refined alchemy of filmmaking that was embraced by both West and East. Whereas contemporary Japanese filmmakers such as Ozu and Mizoguchi tended to focus on strictly Japanese elements with a nuanced, patient style that did not find Western audiences for many years, Kurosawa’s body of work was easily relatable across many cultures. Beginning with Rashomon, Kurosawa’s work introduced audiences worldwide to Japanese filmmakers and contemporary Japanese culture.

A lifelong student of dramatic work from around the world, Kurosawa was heavily influenced by authors from Dostoyevsky to Shakespeare. In films such as Throne of Blood and Ran he reinterpreted Macbeth and King Lear as tales of war and political intrigue in feudal Japan. The nature of many of Shakespeare’s tragic characters fit well into the no-nonsense code of the samurai, many of who were likely to encounter downfalls because of their own violent ambitions and the scheming of their colleagues. Shakespeare used a modernized version of history in order to better relate these stories to his audiences and the political and social realms that they inhabited; Kurosawa did the same for contemporary Japan, blending in elements of Japanese Noh theater to reinterpret the English plays for his audience. Much of the makeup and hairstyles used in these renditions recalls the emotive masks used in Noh, often indicating the true nature of a character attempting to hide behind false words.

Many of Kurosawa’s other works, while not directly based off the Bard’s plays, still contain Shakespearean elements. The inclusion of comedic characters, like the fool, in serious dramas is prevalent in both men’s work. These characters would often serve to relate story and setting elements to the audience, as well as provide moments of levity to offset the often time dire nature of the dramas. Comedic elements were present in some dramatic Hollywood works of the time, but few directors could find a proper balance between lightheartedness and menace, their works often running the risk of becoming hokey or cheesy. In adventures such as The Seven Samurai and The Hidden Fortress, comedic characters form an integral (if sometimes annoying) part of the ensemble. In later years, this balance of comedy and drama would become essential to the Hollywood blockbuster machine. From war films such as The Dirty Dozen to mob movies such as Goodfellas to literature adaptation such as Lord of the Rings—not to mention the works of Altman, Spielberg and Tarantino—Hollywood directors have played with the motley ensemble, honing the Shakespearean formula to balance levity and gravity. The concept of balancing comedy with tragedy has been around for centuries in Western literature and theater—but Kurosawa was among the first to execute it so deftly on film, a feat that would be adopted by generations of directors after him and so drive the course of Western filmmaking.

The Hidden Fortress in particular exemplifies Shakespeare’s influence on Kurosawa, as well as serving as one of Kurosawa’s most influential films. It may not be a straightforward Shakespearean adaptation, but it contains several elements Kurosawa derived from Shakespeare that became staples of his oeuvre, such as the use of common citizens to relate an aristocratic morality tale in an entertaining fashion. In turn, this type of film became prototypical of the modern day Hollywood adventure film.

The Hidden Fortress presents itself as a historical tale, relating the story of deposed Princess Yuki, her loyal General Makabe, and their quest to get the princess and her stockpile of gold to safety. Its moral and historical nature is familiar to Shakespeare’s own—fictionalized characters encounter actual historical events, allowing the author to critique social mores such as greed (material and political), loyalty (to one’s beliefs and friends), class and the role of women. Kurosawa even revisits some Shakespearean imagery in the forest in which the protagonists become entangled, demonstrating the frequently confusing nature of man’s purpose.

It is the use of the fools, however, that draws the greatest line of influence. The film opens with two peasants, Tahei and Matakishi, arguing in the dessert. Their dialogue sets up the setting of the story, and throughout the film their greed and bickering serve as elements of comic relief to offset the deathly serious nature of Toshiro Mifune’s Makabe. Many of these opening shots, particularly when the couple’s backbiting leads to a brief parting, is reminiscent of R2D2 and C3PO’s initial moments on the planet Tatooine in George Lucas’ space opera Star Wars. The story is initially interpreted through the lowliest characters and then expanded upon as the ensemble grows. Lucas has acknowledged the influence of Kurosawa’s film on his own: the imperiled Princesses Yuki and Leia; Makabe as Obi Wan (or Han Solo), protecting the princess on her journey; General Tadokoro is Darth Vader. The similarities in the garb, lifestyles and philosophy between samurai and Jedi are notable, as are filmmaking techniques and props like the frame wipes, which are similar in both films, and the use of swords—whether lightsaber or katana—as primary weapon.

Shakespeare, Kurosawa and even Lucas used their melodramas as historical critiques. Julius Caesar, focusing on the death of a ruler and the questions of leadership and civil war that arose after, reflected the questions hanging over the head of British citizens during the end of the reign of Queen Elizabeth, while both Hidden Fortress and Star Wars involve the questioning of leadership in times of crisis. In Hidden Fortress, Kurosawa also critiques the loyal-to-the-death nature of the samurai code, with Makabe protecting the princess while his family is forced to die. Like the some of the more prominent Shakespearean fools, the lower class characters prove to be more than they initially appear; their greediness merely a result of desperation caused by the not-so-noble ruling class that constitute the work’s protagonists. The Jedi follow a similar code of conduct to the samurai, but the formers’ ragtag appearance in the earlier films helps them seem nobler against the SS-like Imperial fleet.

This tradition of combining moral and social critiques with crowd-pleasing entertainment is familiar to today’s Hollywood audience, and traces its roots back as far as Greek morality plays and Biblical parables. To us, Hidden Fortress, beyond its Star Wars similarities, is a prototypical Hollywood adventure: a no-nonsense hero; a spunky heroine; their greedy comedic sidekicks; a journey composed of a series of increasingly difficult undertakings. Along the way they meet some friends and enemies, and though things may get tough, our heroes pull through. The cinematography shows a series of beautiful vistas and the soundtrack’s strings and woodwinds serves to underscore the action and intensify the dramatic—if not operatic—effect. In the end and they have gained some invaluable treasure and the audience goes home happy. Seem familiar? Ask Indiana Jones.

The goal of the most basic genre pieces is to provide a temporary escape from reality based on a well-worn formula.

The goal of the most basic genre pieces, no matter the medium, is to provide a temporary escape from reality based on a well-worn formula. They appeal to a particular demographic in order maximize capital, if not always artistic, profits. Gangster films, samurai flicks, and westerns all fall into this category. Hundreds, if not thousands of these films have been made, and most of them are quickly forgotten and ignored by subsequent generations. However, a few pieces always manage to subvert or transcend their genre roots. The samurai films of Kurosawa are particularly successful examples of this feat. Calling on Shakespeare and Japanese tradition as their sources, they use technical expertise and morality plays to elevate their material, sometimes simply by combining what initially appear to be disparate genres. When one thinks of quick talking gangsters with Brooklyn accents, the image of a stolid samurai does not usually come forward. Kurosawa, however, recognized the base similarities in these characters and the worlds they inhabit. And, more impressively, he was able to blend Eastern and Western genre pieces in order to develop a more universal style of filmmaking.

Several of Kurosawa’s films immediately after WWII, such as Drunken Angel and Stray Dog were fairly straight-faced works of film noir. As in American and European cinema at the time, these were simply darker reinterpretations of the gangster film. The American-occupied post-war Japan provided a fitting setting for dark, paranoiac tales in which the rapid modernization of the country created a new set of social issues to be confronted. As morality evolved and transformed between generations, so did the notion of the hero. These noir themes were reinterpreted and combined with feudal period Japan in the hero-less Rashomon. The film unfolds in unorthodox fashion, telling the story of a murder from the perspectives several equally unreliable narrators, a narrative mechanic that has been borrowed by dozens of works since, arguably evolving into a genre all its own. The characters in the film could easily fall into a genre piece from Hollywood. We see the charismatic rogue portrayed in so many facets by the inimitable Toshiro Mifune, as well as Machiko Kyo’s innocent widow, eventually revealed to be as deadly as any femme fatale. The events depicted—a duel, a murder scheme, a lustful communion or possible rape—are familiar to American noir. The deft use of light and shadow and the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees, alternately hides and reveals the players and their motives in a manner reminiscent of the stylized set work on such films from the 40s.

The connection between samurai and gangster is explored further in Jean-Pierre Melville’s 1967 thriller Le Samourai. Alain Delon plays Jef Costello, a lone assassin who lives by a strict code. Within the first few minutes of the film, viewers understand that Jef is as focused, trained, and prepared to die as any of Kurosawa’s most respected masters. In an outstanding use of form serving function, the structure of the film is as sparse and simple as the life the protagonist leads. To be successful, to survive, the hit-man must live his life a certain way—any other path leads only to failure, dishonor, and death. Melville combines facets of noir and the more nuanced work of Kurosawa in order to reinterpret one genre by diverting our attention through another. Jim Jarmusch’s 1999 film Ghost Dog likewise features a hitman who, working for the mafia, follows a Kurosawa-esque samurai code known as the Hagakure. Furthermore, showing his debt to the Japanese director, Jarmusch uses Rashomon-like storytelling methods at one point and even features a copy of the book Rashomon in the film. The Canadian Jarmusch recognizes the debt that he and other filmmakers owe to Kurosawa for adding a Japanese flavor to the gangster film.

But Kurosawa’s genre work was not confined to noir; his most notable genre influences involved the American western. The Seven Samurai was remade as the classic western The Magnificent Seven. Both films are period pieces bringing together a star-studded ensemble cast as mercenaries hired to protect a small village from raiders. Ronin samurai and mercenary gunmen, bloodthirsty raiders holding a town hostage, a set of divergent personalities lighting up the screen—all are interchangeable elements between samurai and western films, bringing into focus the ways in which Kurosawa’s western inspired work affected the genre almost immeasurably. The overlapping spheres of influence across genres would ultimately lead to an international style of filmmaking of which Kurosawa was at the forefront. For confirmation of this, one need look no further than Yojimbo.

During the 1950s, Japanese critics often denigrated Kurosawa for creating films that were too Western in style and narrative. In 1959, he responded by making a film based off the most typically American genre, the gun-slinging western. While a western in form, Kurosawa actually borrowed the idea for Yojimbo from a 1929 Dashiel Hammet novel, Red Harvest. Red Harvest tells the now familiar story of a lone detective who plays two crime families against each other. Yojimbo tells the story of a lone samurai who plays two crime families against each other. Kurosawa viewed the film as a hybrid genre piece, a mash-up of the gangster film and samurai period piece filmed through the lens of a dusty western. Several shots and themes where inspired by the noir film The Glass Key, again based on a Hammet novel. Indeed, it’s not hard to imagine Mifune’s cold, anonymous anti-hero as a noir lead, ordering about the barkeep, making some quick quips, and staying ahead of the curve as he plays the two crime lords against each other, all while perpetually chewing on a toothpick like a chain-smoker.

But when Mifune walks alone down those empty streets, the deep-focus cinematography is straight out of a western. The way Mifune is framed against his enemies is reminiscent of a western: two men facing off with a whole lot of sand and space between them. The plot too is familiar: a skilled hero makes a dusty, sun-dried and corrupt town safe again—one character even carries a gun and adds a Western-style scarf to his samurai garb. It is a traditional Hollywood western with swords and one glaring difference—while most of the John Ford and Howard Hawks westerns had good guys in the leads, men of sturdy moral character that a young kid could look up to, Kurosawa looks more toward a noir-inspired anti-hero to save the day. Toshiro Mifune is no John Wayne; instead, like Mike Hammer in Kiss Me Deadly, we are never sure which side of the line in the sand he falls on. Kurosawa sees the sword-slasher/gun-slinger as a complex figure, a man whose morals do not necessarily match that of society who, at the end of the day, plays for no team but his own. It was this fascinating, rarely seen take on the western genre in Yojimbo would spawn a new style of western in the 1960s when Clint Eastwood and Sergio Leone ushered in the anti-hero fueled spaghetti western, borrowing heavily and unabashedly from Kurosawa.

A Fistful of Dollars tells the now familiar story of a lone gunslinger playing two crime families against each other. It is a near exact—sometimes shot for shot—remake of Yojimbo, and pieces in the two films are very nearly interchangeable. Rather than a samurai with no master, Eastwood portrays a soldier with no war, a gunslinger wandering from town to town, finding what little purpose there is to his existence where he can. He talks (barely—if Mifune was sparse, Eastwood is nearly silent) to the undertaker and barkeep, demonstrates his considerable skills, plays a bodyguard for both sides, and is able to be the last man standing at the end of the day. Even when the town is saved, our hard to like hero is unfulfilled.

The hard-edged, lack of emotion for which Eastwood would become known cribs heavily from Mifune’s iconic performance, and Leone went as far as reusing Kurosawa’s framing of certain locales and situations more or less identically. Yes, it’s a rip-off, but it’s an extremely well done rip-off, and it eventually allowed Leone to further redevelop the western landscape with his succeeding films and making the Man with No Name trilogy a landmark in not only the western genre, but in world cinema. It also demonstrates Kurosawa’s gift for reinterpreting ideas for his audience, all the while influencing a future generations of filmmakers.

The notion of genre mash-up comes to its hyperactive apogee with the work of Quentin Tarantino. Tarantino’s work as a whole is pastiche, a stitching together of various styles and elements from film history. Kill Bill is a basic pulp revenge flick with a samurai theme strung through a spaghetti western score and shot structure. Though Tarantino himself may state he was more influenced by the chop-socky samurai flicks of the 1970s, it is worth noting that these action heavy films would likely not have existed without Seven Samurai and Yojimbo. The latter film in particular, with its lone protagonist facing overly impossible odds in a hard-boiled yet often comical manner, sets a tone that, through Leone, Tarantino has used on several occasions. Even echoes of Shakespearean tragedy reverberate in the Tarantino’s revenge drama of misguided lovers, broken families and trusts betrayed.

The Bard has been influencing Western artists for centuries, but it took a Japanese filmmaker to take the Shakespearean tradition to the next level. By using precedents outside the traditional Japanese framework, Kurosawa was able to reach a wider audience and reconfigure the notion of genre. Through his influences and achievements, he became one of the first true international filmmakers, inspiring several generations of filmmakers who would explore notions of genre and identity in film. His method of classicism and cultural collage has inspired a wave of filmmakers who create without borders, where west meets east meets west.