The Samurai and the Prisoner
I like films where the dilemma is not entirely rooted in action, but in philosophy. Yes, “The Odyssey” has terrific set pieces, but the things I keep coming to in that film are the moral quandaries the characters find themselves in. In his adaptation of the novel by Honobu Yonezawa, writer-director Kiyoshi Kurosawa has alluded to great fight sequences, but much of the violence we witness in “The Samurai and the Prisoner” is either violence’s aftermath, or quick and brutal. The impacts of violence resonate beyond the act, however; it shapes how people view the world.
Murashige Araki (Masahiro Motoki) is a samurai who served the lord, Oda Nobunaga, during the Azuchi era, and has since rebelled against him. He is now barricaded, along with his allies, in Arioka Castle, as Oda’s forces surround them, and try to breach the castle. Early on, he is met by Kanbei Kuroda (Masaki Suda), a military strategist under Oda, who has come to negotiate. Rather than send him back to Oda, or execute him, Murashige takes him prisoner, going against samurai code. That decision to keep Kanbei alive comes with consequences, as well as benefits, when another prisoner is taken later, and found brutally- and seemingly impossibly- murdered within the castle walls. Using Kanbei’s intellect, can Murashige figure out the answers while the siege rages on just outside.
We rarely see Oda onscreen in “The Samurai and the Prisoner.” His presence in the narrative is only felt in what is said about him, and in the brief moments of soldiers preparing for battle. What we learn helps illustrate Murashige’s desire to break free and fight Oda, as well as Kanbei’s certainty that, eventually, the castle will fall. Much of the movie is built on not only the death mentioned above, but also two other occurrences without clear answers. At its core, however, it lays on the foundation that is the dynamic between Murashige and Kanbei, which is established in that initial conversation, and grows and expands whenever Murashige visits Kanbei in the dungeons of the castle. Their discussions reveal a lot about each other, the ways they’ve tried to live their lives, and the respect with which each one views the other. By sparing Murashige- as well as the other prisoner before they are murdered- he is going against a very traditional code of being a samurai. He’s acting with mercy to try and meet Oda’s brutality.
While there are times when the film’s 147-minute hits lulls, I found myself engaged with “The Samurai and the Prisoner” every step of the way. Kurosawa’s use of interrogation and mystery to drive the narrative, as well as define character, is rich and fascinating. The way certain characters play specific roles in outlining the film’s ideas, such as Yuriko Yoshitaka as Chiyoho, Murashige’s wife, who offers council and peace to her husband, but also a firm realization of the traumatizing impacts of war, and Joe Odagiri as Juemon, one of Murashige’s most loyal members of his inner circle. The film’s center is in the performances by Masahiro and Masaki, however. The bond these two men form is compelling and filled with intrigue, especially when Murashige has a revelation about Kanbei late in the film. It’s noble to try and break free from societal norms, but sometimes, the harsh reality of what that means is inevitable. When Murashige understands that, he can be the leader he wants to be. It’s a powerful way to end a film that deals with personal responsibility to all, not just one’s own ideals.
