Japan’s Tokugawa period (1603-1868), with its rigid class structure and gradually declining samurai tradition amid relative peace has generated countless period dramas depicting the struggles of rebellious swordsmen to stand up to tyranny, corruption and vice. But few, if any have been better stated with such passion and excellence than Masaki Kobayashi’s Samurai Rebellion.

The film is based on a story by Yasuhiko Takiguchi, the same author whose work Kobayashi brought to the screen five years earlier in the equally masterful Harakiri. In 1725, daimyo Sanzaemon Yanase (Masao Mishima) orders his concubine Ichi (Yoko Tsukasa) out of his house after she physically assaults him. She is to marry the son of one of the clan’s top swordsmen, Isaburo Sasahara (Toshiro Mifune). On the surface, this is an honor for the Sasahara family, but not everyone is happy about it. Tortured by a twenty-year marriage to a woman he never loved, Isaburo doesn’t want his son to repeat his mistake. Only concerned with appearances, Isaburo’s wife treats Ichi with distain for daring to strike the clan lord. Much to Isaburo’s surprise, Ichi and his son Yogoro (Go Kato) fall deeply in love. Furthermore, his initial apprehension about her character is washed away by discovering that Ichi’s attack on the lord was prompted out of anger for being forced to marry against her will and subsequently replaced by another woman of low character.

Two years later, Sanzaemon’s only heir unexpectedly dies and Ichi is called back to him, despite her new life and family. Against the wishes of their lord and fellow clansmen who all fear what might happen should they cross him, Isaburo, Yogoro and Ichi resist the order. When Ichi is tricked into returning to Sanzaemon’s house, Isaburo and Yogoro vow to take this issue up with the Shogun and see that this outrage is made public throughout the country. Faced with a potentially humiliating rebellion, Sanzaemon orders their deaths and a fierce standoff ensues, ultimately with Isaburo having to face not only an overwhelming number of men, but also his friend and only equal, swordsman and chief of the clan’s border guard Tatewaki Asano (Tatsuya Nakadai).

Samurai Rebellion is an excellent case for arguing that rich character and story development give action its meaning. There is virtually no swordplay at all until the final standoff, but what impact it delivers. Kobayashi doesn’t waste a frame of film prior to this climax on anything that doesn’t ultimately enhance the action-packed ending. At the film’s core is Mifune’s character. During the course of the story he retires from serving the clan and turns his household over to Yogoro, but he’s never out of the picture. In fact, he’s the driving force and it is his firm character and its close connection with his sword skill that is most compelling. It is Tatewaki who points out that Isaburo’s nature matches his sword technique. Faced with an opponent or any adversity, he patiently gives ground, but only so far. Eventually he strikes back with unmatched fury. Such is the situation Isaburo finds himself and his family in. Once again, Tatewaki is the one person capable of understanding Isaburo and when asked to deal with him by the daimyo, he offers a prophetic warning that going against Isaburo will only result in a mountain of dead and wounded.

In an interview with Kobayashi, the director mentions that Mifune’s mind wasn’t on acting during the shoot. He had, in fact, begun producing in the last five years and Samurai Rebellion was one of the films his Mifune Productions Co. oversaw. Whether true or not, Mifune is still a powerful acting force to be reckoned with. Throughout the course of the movie he undergoes a compelling transformation, from a regretful, aging family man to at first a joyous champion of righteousness and then a nearly demonic killing machine covered in blood and muck. It’s a unique performance few actors could match.

Shigeru Koyama (Kill!) is quite memorable in his role as Sanzaemon’s chief steward Geki Takahashi. He’s the most villainous and certainly looks the part with with his gaunt eyes and sneer. He plays a critical part in leading the initial charge against Isaburo, not with an honest attack but by cowardly using Ichi as a hostage and trying to talk his way out an open confrontation.

Go Kato, who plays Mifune’s elder son Yogoro is good in his role as the better part of his father, meaning he shares his father’s righteous character, yet lacks the emotional baggage and same killing instinct. Yet, Yoko Tsukasa as Ichi is even more engaging. She played opposite Mifune in Yojimbo, but is far more memorable here as a woman struggling with the loss of her innocence and free will. However, half of her performance should be attributed to director Masaki Kobayashi, who frames her brilliantly in scene after scene.

Kobayashi is a film master, no doubt about it. Along with Harikiri, his other most famous work is Kwaidan, a visually stunning compilation of ghostly folk tales. With Samurai Rebellion, he shows off not only superb visuals brought to life by cinematographer Kazuo Yamada, but also a highly sophisticated sense of pacing, character development and staging of screen combat.

In the final reel, Mifune faces off against fellow chanbara film icon Tatsuya Nakadai in one of the genre’s great duels. By this point, Kobayashi has dropped plenty of clues about the character and ability of both men, without actually showing any action save for an early scene where Mifune tests a new blade in a cutting ceremony. As Tatewaki, Nakadai is not a villain, but an honor-bound samurai forced to stop Mifune. Technically, it’s not the best choreographed sword fight ever filmed, but it’s well executed and it carries the weight of the entire film thanks to Kobayashi’s excellent build up. The rest of the scene involves Mifune’s single-handed attempt to face the might of his lord’s armed forces as he descends into an animal rage, charging headlong into thick, green foliage filled with gunners and spearmen. It’s a fantastic scene that caps an incredible movie all around.

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