In 1966, The Nikkatsu Corporation charged Seijun Suzuki with making a serious film promoting not only one of their up and coming star, Tetsuya Watari, but also to use the movie as a means to popularize the theme song that would accompany it. What Suzuki would deliver is Tokyo Drifter; a film filled with stylistic violence, sporadic editing and a load of unintentional surrealism, not to mention a hero with a plastic toy gun and a penchant for singing.
On paper, Tokyo Drifter sounds like a rather straight-forward tale. A young man, Tetsu (Watari) and his boss Kurata (Ryuji Kita) have decided to leave their life of crime and violence behind and have chosen to become respectable men. This does not bode well with rival crime boss Tanaka (Eiji Go) who, after being unable to provoke Tetsu through violence, sets him and his boss up in a murder in order to take control of the remaining assets they control. Tetsu, fearing that he is the cause of all of these troubles coming down upon his boss leaves Tokyo to become a drifter, hoping to get as far away from these dealings as he can. It’s not long though before Tanaka’s men track down Tetsu and reluctantly bring him back in to the world he’s so desperately trying to avoid.
What Suzuki would deliver is anything but straight-forward. Boasting drastic and often unique uses of color, Tokyo Drifter is as much a piece of pop art as any of Warhol’s contributions. Standing out amongst the vividly colorized surroundings, Tetsu is often found in a baby blue suit with white shoes. Obviously a bit of mod styling, but definitely not the way one would consider a cinematic bad ass dressing, especially not the lead in a 1960’s Japanese gangster film. Then there’s his red toy gun complete with pink and purple muzzle flash exploding out at each shot.
The colorization was so over the top that, upon delivering Tokyo Drifter to the Nikkatsu Corporation, they forbade him from ever making another colorized film. It would only be two more films, the latter of which being Branded to Kill, which Criterion also just upgraded to Blu-ray, before Nikkatsu fired him completely.
The film also has its fare share of off the cuff editing and incredibly surreal, yet minimalist set pieces. Within the interviews included as special features on the disc, Suzuki reveals the tight and cheap shooting process of Nikkatsu films, usually comprising of having less than a month to complete any picture and very meager funds to do so with. He counts this as much of the reason for the sets and editing being the way they turned out, but many film lovers and scholars have lavished their adoration on what feels like a Japanese take on the French New Wave, at least in an editing and storytelling sense.
Scenes play out and feel like a frame or two may be missing or something crazy happens out of nowhere and never quite fully gets explained or resolved. Though this might sound maddening to some, I feel like it makes the film that much more intriguing and adds a level of captivation that might otherwise be lost with general storytelling. Since there was so little money, many of the sets near the end consist of simple white rooms with one strong color throughout, giving the scenes an almost dreamlike quality. Suzuki says this surrealism was unintentional, but I can’t help but feel that he had to have known what he was doing.
To me, one of the most important factors to take into account with older films is the day and age in which said film was released. This film would, in most cases be considered edgy and over-the-top nowadays, let alone when it was originally released in 1960’s Japan. Suzuki may have been to some just another part of the Nikkatsu machine, but he was doing it his way and didn’t care if the company liked it or not. Although his films were for a long time banished from screenings, appreciation for him grew over the years and his influence and art has been able to be shared the world over. I dare anyone to see this film and not feel like you figured out where Tarantino got much of Kill Bill from.
High-Def Presentation
Tokyo Drifter was one of The Criterion Collection’s earliest releases in the DVD market and has been long overdue for an upgrade, and boy does this one deliver. Boasting a MPEG-4 AVC 1080p Encode, Tokyo Drifter looks better than one could have ever imagined it looking. The colors of this movie absolutely flourish in the high definition realm. The overall picture has had a major overhaul with dirt and debris removed, yet detail and grain remain giving the film that true film look it deserves.
For those curious, the very beginning of the movie is shot in Black and White and does seem to be blown out and a bit hard to tell what’s going on at times. This is indeed done intentionally by the Suzuki himself and is not a byproduct of a bad transfer. It’s simply another way for the director to be artistic with his creation.
As far as sound goes, Criterion has done another great job with what they had to work with. Containing a Japanese LPCM 1.0 soundtrack (with optional English subtitles), the sound is quite crisp and clear. Dialogue comes through clean and seems to have no issues, while the soundtrack almost gets a life of its own every time a song is sung, which is surprisingly often. There is some faint hiss here and there, but none to detract from or interfere with one’s overall experience.
Beyond the Feature
Being a Criterion Collection release, one would expect there to be quite a bit of supplemental material. Unfortunately that is not the case with Tokyo Drifter. In fact, there are merely 3 supplements in total and only one of those is new to this release. The plus side is that a lot of information about Suzuki and the film is gained with so little available. I really wish they could have at least added a commentary, if not from Suzuki, who’s health is rather poor, than a film historian of some sort.
- Seijun Suzuki and Masami Kuzuu (HD, 13 min) – A brand new interview (and the lone new feature) with Suzuki and assistant director Masami Kuzuu recorded in July 2011. Both men go in depth into the making of Tokyo Drifter as well as working for Nikkatsu, serving as a wonderful glimpse into the director and his career. This interview was recorded exclusively for The Criterion Collection and is presented in Japanese with English subtitles.
- Seijun Suzuki (HD, 21 min) – This interview is from March 1997 and is compiled from interviews Suzuki gave at a retrospective on his career by the Japan Foundation and the Los Angeles Filmforum. Here Suzuki goes even more in depth into many of the challenges of making Tokyo Drifter and being a part of the Nikkatsu machine. This is another great interview that leaves the viewer anxious to know more about Suzuki and his body of work.
- Trailer (HD, 3 min) – Although this trailer is presented in HD, it is obviously in a non-restored form. This allows the trailer to serve as an excellent example of just how great of a job Criterion did on the restoration of Tokyo Drifter.
- Booklet – As with all of their releases, Criterion has included an illustrated booklet with Tokyo Drifter, including information on the restoration process as well as an essay on the film by film critic Howard Hampton.
Forty five years ago Suzuki was tasked with making a run of the mill gangster flick and what he created remains a testament to his outlaw spirit and serves as a high water mark for his creativity. Tokyo Drifter is definitely not a movie for everyone. With its random editing and not so linear narrative, I’m sure some folks would become quite frustrated with it. But if you are like me and not only crave films that are left of the norm while also maintaining a sense of history and influence all their own, then I highly suggest you add this film to your Blu-ray collection.
– Matt Hardeman
Shop for Tokyo Drifter: Criterion Collection on Blu-ray for a discounted price at Amazon.com (December 13, 2011 release date).
