The Betrayal
Radiance Films
Original release date: July 2nd, 1966 (Japan)
Written by Rokuhei Susukita (original idea), Seiji Hoshikawa & Tsutomu Nakamura (screenplay)
Directed by Tokuzô Tanaka
Starring Raizô Ichikawa, Kaoru Yachigusa, Shiho Fujimura, Ichirô Nakatani, Takuya Fujioka
Language Japanese (English subs)
Runtime 1 hr, 27 mins
Buy it HERE from MVD, or HERE from Radiance
by "Doc" Hunter Bush, MovieJawn Podcast Director and Staff Writer
What happens when a system founded on honor is inhabited and manipulated by dishonorable men? What does honor mean then? The Betrayal throws you into the deep end right from the jump. Gorgeous black and white cinematography and the sprawling countryside of 1960s Japan quickly give way to a samurai on horseback who rides into town, to the Minazuki clan dojo and demands to be trained. After being told that the master has retired for the day and that the dojo is closed, the man storms off, badmouthing the dojo to other Minazuki samurai he encounters on the road. In a moment of prideful weakness, the samurai lash out, fatally wounding the man but not killing him.
This begins a harrowing story about love and honor that manages to cram the emotional movement and bodycount of your average epic into a sleek 87 minute runtime. When the man's brother arrives at the Minazuki dojo demanding satisfaction for what we learn was the eventual death of his brother, who rode home badly wounded, he demands vengeance. Fearing a war with this more powerful neighboring clan, Master Taihei (Shôzô Nanbu) turns to his right hand man, and soon-to-be son-in-law, Kobuse (Raizô Ichikawa). The plan is this: since no one will claim responsibility, Kobuse will take the blame, be exiled, and spend one year as a wandering ronin. By the time he returns, tensions will have passed and he will be allowed to reintegrate into the dojo and finally marry Taihei's daughter Namie (Kaoru Yachigusa).
What no one anticipates is that Master Taihei would pass away suddenly in the intervening year. Once Jurota (Ichirô Nakatani), the one fellow Minazuki samurai who knew the truth, denies all knowledge, Kobuse is left with no one to believe his story. Additionally, having been denied their bloody reparations, the Iwashiro clan are actively on the hunt for Kobuse. Homeless, honorless, and hunted, Kobuse repeatedly finds himself in situations where he is the only levelheaded swordsman, the only truly honorable man.
The Betrayal gave me Infernal Affairs (2002) / The Departed (2006) vibes once I wrapped my head around all the players and their POVs, so fans of that kind of life-or-death tension and wronged-man stories: pay attention.
This release comes in a sturdy case with a double-sided cover. One side is an image from the film of Kobuse in a stand-off against his former master atop a ridge, while the reverse side is a more stylized image of Kobuse in a pop of color, with several black and white opponents in the background done in a pseudo-collage style and set against a stark white background. Both are fantastic choices to have on your shelf; one giving off more "film appreciator" aesthetic while the other is a touch more "grindhouse".
Also included is a booklet with some details on the transfer and a fascinating essay from film studies author Alain Silver which details a lot of cultural and cinematic language and explains how certain aspects of storytelling present in The Betrayal evolved out of kabuki theatricality. He also compares certain directorial choices to films like Harakiri (1962) and assorted works of Akira Kurosawa. This gives me not only a lot of context (which I love) but a leg up on the language I can use to discuss these things.
The Betrayal looks fantastic. Obviously, there's some film grain and texture present in this release, but the images are very sharp, offering an entire spectrum of shades despite this being a black and white film. There's also a certain artfulness to shooting with only black and white in mind, a deliberateness you can feel in the framing of shots and the combinations of set and costume to make actions and movements clearly readable. You can throw a desaturation filter over your Logan (2017) or Fury Road (2015) and enjoy them, but it's a completely different animal to watch something made by filmmakers actively thinking in monochrome.
The one wrinkle that might turn off some of the more tech-geeky film aficionados out there is that this is a mono audio track. Personally, I didn't mind it. I don't really expect or need a film from 60 years ago to offer an immersive audio experience (even if I had that kind of set-up, which I don't) and the mono track not only gave me everything I needed from it, but it also kind of reinforces the throwback-y feel of watching a film that takes place in a different century. Much as small children looking at old photographs might assume that the world of 100+ years ago was actually sepia or black & white, even though I know better, I kind of like to believe this mono audio is what Japan might have actually sounded like in whatever century this story takes place in. There's different approaches to the concept of "immersion", is my point.
Overall the special features present on this disc are decent. While there isn't a full-length commentary track, there are a selection of scene-specific commentaries, from Tom Mes, (which thankfully have a 'Play All' option) offering insight into the filmmaking and background of director Tokuzô Tanaka, and leading me to track down the film Orochi (1925), which directly inspired The Betrayal. The 'Path to Betrayal' featurette, narrated by Philip Kemp, expands upon that relationship and compares moments from both films. One amusing anecdote is that Orochi (which means 'Serpent') was originally titled The Outlaw, but could not be released under that name because it depicted the titular outlaw in a heroic light.
I wasn't wild over the third bonus feature, which plays like a PowerPoint presentation on Recurring Visual Themes in Tokuzô Tanaka's films. While I found the subject matter itself interesting, the presentation--just text over footage--felt a little lacking. I'd have more enjoyed a little more of an examination of what these elements might represent narratively in the various films, and some narration (if Tom Mes, who put it together, wasn't available, that Philip Kemp fella did a bang-up job). Also, not to be nitpicky, but if the titles of all these films could be onscreen for longer (so I can add 'em to my Letterboxd watchlist), that would've been much appreciated.
- Scene Specific Commentary (41:24)
- The Path To Betrayal (10:00)
- Recurring Visual Themes (9:24)
The world of samurai / bushido films goes deeper than Kurosawa, great as that filmography obviously is, and I'm very glad that The Betrayal is being made available. I thoroughly enjoyed my time in this world. Imagine enjoying organized crime films, but only ever hearing about The Godfather (1972), or the films of Martin Scorsese. Sure, you're getting great stuff, but what about Donnie Brasco (1997), The Untouchables (1987), or Miller's Crossing (1990)? This is why I'm glad and grateful to live during an nearly unprecedented era of film access. I'm able to be exposed to so many films outside the usual lanes that are still well within the genres I enjoy. Additionally, the special features here led me to track down Orochi, which if nothing else, makes me feel slightly more well-rounded as a film viewer.
The Betrayal is a blast that throws you into the action as it begins and doesn't waste any time after that. Every moment furthers the story, increasing our understanding of the characters and the importance they place on their honor. Then of course, when that honor is finally ...betrayed, we're treated to a climactic marathon of violent retribution. When the film ended, I was stunned in my seat. While the release might have some minor technical deterrents for some, I still wholeheartedly recommend you seek this one out if you enjoy Kill Bill (2003/2004) or the aforementioned Kurosawa, and want to dive deeper.
No comments:
Post a Comment