If I have another son, I'm going to name him Daigoro.
In 1972, producer Katsu Shintaro (Zatoichi, Hanzo the Razor), director Misumi Kenji (also a veteran of the Zatoichi and Hanzo series), manga artist Koike Kazuo, and lead actor Wakayama Tomisaburo (brother of Katsu and period drama veteran) began a journey that would last six films, but have an impact on Japanese and international filmmakers for decades to come. Lone Wolf and Cub: Sword of Vengeance is the first in a series of incredibly violent, almost unbearably stylish, and unexpectedly tender films about a boy and his father on the run from a clan of assassins intent upon their demise.
The Lone Wolf and Cub series is the story of Ogami Itto (Wakayama), the former shogun's second for all state hara-kiri executions. For those unfamiliar with some of the more gruesome details of hara-kiri, the second is a swordsman who stands behind the person sentenced to commit ritual suicide by stomach cutting (seppuku). In cases where the person was deserving of a formal ceremony, the second would swiftly decapitate the victim so as not to prolong his agony. When Itto's wife is murdered by ninjas as part of a complicated plot to remove him from his post, he takes his toddler son, Daigoro, and runs, hoping to keep him safe from harm.
Now a disgraced ronin, Itto roams the countryside with Daigoro in a babycart, carrying a sign that says he, his son, and his sword are for hire to make ends meet. Over the course of six films and two years, Itto and his son cut a swath through feudal Japan as both swords for hire and occasionally soldiers of righteousness. Usually Itto is the sole vessel of violence, but Daigoro gets in on the action from time to time, as his father utilizes the dutiful and quick-witted boy's talents to their mutual advantage. This is one of many unique elements of this series that sets it apart from other similar swordplay films of the time, and it was these elements that kept Lone Wolf and Cub relevant as Japanese audiences turned more and more frequently to stories of youth gone wild in contemporary '70s Japan.
The series was one of the most expressively violent and artistically audacious mainstream series of the time, with its arterial sprays of day-glo blood painting the screen red at every opportunity. As many studios were turning toward sex and violence, with the rise of Nikkatsu's Roman Porno line, the Stray Cat Rock series, the Female Prisoner Scorpion films, the increasing number of so-called Pinky Violence films that flooded cinemas in the early '70s, it took a special kind of production to keep chanbara swordplay films in the running, and the Lone Wolf and Cub team were up for the challenge.
Only four of the six films in the series were directed by Misumi Kenji, but even the other two feel like part of the greater whole that has become the Lone Wolf and Cub series. Stylistically, Misumi was adventurous in the way he framed and shot action. From early films utilizing mesmerizing kimonos as an attempt to throw Itto off guard with their dizzying psychedelic patterns, to later films that borrowed more from the destitute wastelands of the great spaghetti westerns, Lone Wolf and Cub may have been violent, but it was first and foremost, beautiful.
Even after forty-two years, Lone Wolf and Cub remains a tremendously entertaining piece of art. Any attempt to separate these films into individual pieces would almost certainly fail to grasp the enormity and true unity of the series as an intentional whole. With four films released in 1972 alone, it is clear that the films were meant to be a single work, divided only by the pragmatic need to make them marketable.
Before receiving this set, I had only watched the first two films, and now having watched them all, one after another, I can say that I didn't truly understand the experience until now. The best way to view Lone Wolf and Cub is all at once. I let the beauty of the cinematography wash over me, I absorbed the powerful serenity that guided Itto's blade, I understood his need to keep his son safe from harm. Even though they are largely remembered as some of the goriest chanbara ever filmed (which they are), the Lone Wolf and Cub films have tremendous heart and that's what sticks with me when the final blade is returned to its scabbard.
The Discs:
The Criterion Collection has released the Lone Wolf and Cub series of six films on two Blu-ray discs. While this might seem troubling, the films look astoundingly good. I previously owned the Animeigo Blu-ray release, which infamously put the first film on its own disc and the other five on a separate disc. While neither is ideal, technically speaking, I find Criterion's releases to be vastly superior. The color balance and fine detail are exceptional in this release, which will be a relief to fans. Even though the six films are housed on only two discs, they don't share space with any of the extras, allowing the bitrate to go as high as possible within those modest constraints. The point is that the films look marvelous, and there's no reason whatsoever to be trepidatious about this set.
There is a third Blu-ray disc in this set that houses all of the bonus materials. The most striking of these is the retooled American cut, Shogun Assassin, which is the version of the film that came to US cinemas in the early '80s. I couldn't find any information about where this transfer came from, but it looks almost as good as the original film, though there is more damage present. This film is a recut of the first two Lone Wolf and Cub movies with an added voiceover to help bridge cultural gaps. The voiceover is from the perspective of Daigoro, the titular Cub, and it creates a very interesting vibe for the film, beyond a simple redubbing of the original actors. I really enjoy Shogun Assassin, and while it would never take the place of the original series in my heart, it's certainly a satisfying experience on its own.
Also included on the third disc are a host of interviews and specials, all of which help to contextualize the films and their place in Japanese cinema history. First up is a feature length making-of talking head documentary ported over from Wild Side's French editions of the series. At nearly an hour in length, it's a very interesting look at the people who made this film and their views on it all these years later.
There are also a series of new interviews shot exclusively for this Criterion release. There are interviews with Koike Kazuo, the writer and creator of the manga and screenwriter of five of the films, there is an interview with Nozawa Kazuma, an assocaite of director Misumi Kenji about Misumi's work and innovative style, and last there is an interview with Sensei Katsuse Yoshimitsu, in which he talks about the signature Suio-ryu sword techniques that Wakayama Tomisaburo uses in the film. This last interview is very interesting as the Sensei describes his life in the martial arts and demonstrates some of the tenets and movements associated with the art.
The set finishes up with a wonderful booklet (thank heavens it isn't another foldout) that features writing from Japanese culture critic Patrick Macias, who provides an overview of the series and its creators, as well as individual notes for all six films. It makes for fascinating reading for those of us - like me - who can't get enough of this series.
If you haven't bought this set by the time you've finished reading my review, you must not have been paying much attention. Lone Wolf and Cub is a stellar release from The Criterion Collection that deserves a place on every movie fan's shelf. Grab it!