Review: Orochi

[The following review contains MAJOR SPOILERS; YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!]

Orochi is one of those miracles of film preservation: a century-old silent melodrama from a period in the history of cinema that precious few motion pictures survived (and certainly from which none escaped totally unscathed), cobbled together from elements recovered from various disparate sources—including, according to the opening credits, archival footage salvaged from a documentary produced in the 1970s—and resurrected for future generations, like an echo from the distant past. In that context, the quality of the movie itself is almost irrelevant; its mere existence is impressive enough.

The story is a tragedy in the tradition of Sophocles and Euripides: a series of miseries, woes, and indignities endured in rapid succession—a torrential deluge of suffering utterly devoid of even the pretense of hope to alleviate the central character’s anguish (indeed, the pervasive atmosphere of despair occasionally borders on absurdist comedy). Shakespeare’s Romeo may have been “fortune’s fool,” but the protagonist of this bleak cautionary tale is somehow less favored by the Fates. Despite his unwavering chivalry and virtue, low-ranking samurai Heisaburo Kuritomi’s stubborn pride, tactless honesty, and inflexible moral code (classic examples of what the Greeks called “hamartia”) are frequently mistaken for disrespect and insolence—feudal Japan, after all, had a rather distorted definition of “honor”: hypocrisy and corruption were easily disguised by the superficial façade of courtesy, propriety, and decorum; likewise, rank, wealth, and reputation were often wielded as weapons against the courageous few that dared to challenge the status quo. Thus is our disgraced, wretched hero a victim of his culture’s prejudices, unjustly persecuted by those that take advantage of their privilege and power to exploit the weak—and his gradual descent down the social ladder (tumbling first from devoted scholar to vagabond ronin, then plummeting to the level of reluctant outlaw, before finally ending up as a feral barbarian) is as spectacular to behold as it is excruciating to witness.

Buntaro Futagawa’s confident, workmanlike direction perfectly complements the relentless urgency of the narrative. Montages replete with dissolves, cross-fades, and match cuts expand and condense time and space, elegantly conveying Kuritomi’s deteriorating sanity. Sweeping, fluid camera movements gracefully track the action, capturing the frantic chase scenes and frenetic sword fights in long, seamless, unbroken takes. The exaggerated performances and stylized makeup and costuming evoke the artifice of kabuki theater, lending a welcome touch of surrealism to the otherwise oppressively naturalistic plot (a compelling juxtaposition). The 4K restoration recently screened at Metrograph was further enriched by a propulsive musical score (courtesy of composer Yasuaki Shimizu, who was in attendance) and energetic—albeit excessively expository—benshi narration (prerecorded, sadly; after experiencing Ichiro Kataoka’s magnificent presentation of A Diary of Chuji’s Travels at Japan Society last December, I would have preferred another live accompaniment—alas, c’est la vie).

Fiercely political, defiantly critical of authority, and unapologetically humanist in its sympathies (it was, in fact, censored upon its initial release due to its perceived subversive themes), Orochi feels as relevant today—i.e., in the “post-truth” era embodied by America’s current presidential administration—as it was a hundred years ago. What a delightful discovery!