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A feature-length documentary about the life and films of legendary actor Toshiro Mifune, weaving together film clips, archival stills, and interviews with such luminaries as Steven Spielberg and Martin Scorsese. Narrated by Keanu Reeves.
Keanu Reeves happens to be an avid fan of martial arts, specifically the samurai culture, as is evident in his recent cinematic oeuvre: the mega-flop “47 Ronin,” where he starred as Kai, one the samurais on a quest to avenge their master, and the even-bigger-flop, the underdog fight flick “Man of Tai Chi,” which he also directed. Both projects, while flawed, deserved more attention: Reeves embraced a passion that is palpable on screen in those ambitious efforts, which failed to live up to their grand potentials.
From “The Matrix” to “John Wick,” there’s a running streak through the star’s career that harks back to the old-school martial arts movies and their insanely-choreographed fight sequences. I’m shocked Tarantino hasn’t directed him yet. It comes as no surprise that Reeves narrates the latest documentary, “Mifune: The Last Samurai,” which focuses on screen legend Toshirô Mifune, mostly known for playing the titular warriors in Akira Kurosawa’s classics. Reeves’ reverential approach to one of the most inspiring figures on his career is palpable – and with fascinating tidbits from contemporary masters – and massive fans – like Spielberg and Scorsese, director Steven Okazaki’s career retrospective of a screen legend is never less than entertaining and passionate, if unoriginal in its approach. It doesn’t delve deep.
Okazaki traces Japanese filmmaking back to the Lumiere brothers; initially, its themes of feudal regimes reflected the tumultuous times and appealed to young people. Later, during the war, Japanese films – similarly to those produced in Russia, Germany and the U.S. – were used as propaganda tools. The Toho Studios went through its Golden Age during the 1950s and ’60s with Toshirô Mifune and Akira Kurosawa producing some of the most influential films ever made. Without them, “Darth Vader wouldn’t be a samurai.”
Japan’s “biggest movie star, along with Godzilla,” Mifune’s career took off rapidly. His first collaboration with Kurosawa was on a script the latter co-wrote. Kurosawa saw major potential in Mifune and proceeded to cast him in “increasingly complex” roles, frequently collaborating with lifelong friend Takashi Shimura. A sequence of classics followed, defying conventional narrative structure and the way audiences perceived film – “Rashomon,” “Seven Samurai,” “Throne of Blood,” “Yojimbo” and “Red Beard” being the standouts among the 16 features the two made together – whose themes Okazaki and Reeves examine, their insights diverting but never deeply enlightening.
We learn how Kurosawa put the crew together, get several glimpses at his tough directorial approach and “volatile” sets, learn about each film’s status and impact, delve into Mifune’s exceptionally thorough preparation – to the point where Kurosawa didn’t have to give him any instructions on set – and so on and so forth. The highlight comes when real arrows were shot at an uninsured Mifune by college students in a particularly dangerous scene – he did the sequence because he was indebted to Kurosawa. The film skips past most of Mifune’s non-Kurosawa collaborations, only occasionally pausing to flip through a visual photo album of his career highlights. Sometimes the line becomes blurry: is the focus on Mifune or Kurosawa here?
Okazaki does skim through Mifune’s work with another prominent Japanese filmmaker, Hiroshi Inagaki (“The Samurai Trilogy,” which gave Mifune “the rare chance to play a romantic role”). Under contractual obligation to Toho, Mifune made over 20 films in four years, which took its toll on his career and dedication to the art of film. “We were in the studio 350 days out of 365,” says his co-star, Yosuke Natsuki, who also shares that Mifune was an avid card player and loved to order Ramen during lunch breaks.
Eventually Mifune and Kurosawa fell off, Mifune “busy working on films overseas,” while “Kurosawa’s career floundered.” Convinced by Toho studios, Mifune started his own production company but, unable to balance being a businessman and actor, this venture started to slide. Tabloids haunted him: a mistress, a divorce – it all began to tarnish the career of an intensely private man. One of his last roles was in Spielberg’s “1941.” “Toshiba understood what the movie was,” Spielberg remembers. “He was always the first one to laugh.” (And the only one, as the film’s critical reaction and box-office indicate.) To keep his company afloat, Mifune turned to television, including he 1980 series “Shogun.” He died of “Alzheimer-related causes” in 1997.
You surely can’t fault the doc for its lack of talking heads. Kano Uni, swordfighting choreographer, was “killed by Mifune more than a hundred times”; Shiro Mifune, the actor’s eldest son, was born the year “Rashomon” was filmed (1950); Teryo Nogami worked with Kurosawa on over 20 films as script supervisor; Kyoko Kagawa, “one of the great actors of Japanese cinema,” recollects her time with the Man – they all reminisce and share anecdotes, though none particularly enthralling. Unsurprisingly, the best ones come from Mifune’s most avid admirers and brilliant successors. Scorsese muses: “Mifune studied the movement of lions in the wild while preparing for ‘Rashomon,’ like a caged animal.” Spielberg compares Mifune to Baryshnikov, and speaks of Mifune’s raw on-screen energy: “It felt like he had just been created by a form of seismic activity underground.”
Perhaps more fitted for a cable channel, “Mifune: The Last Samurai” contains fascinating archival footage from the bygone silent era of Japanese samurai films, surprisingly forward-thinking and exemplarily shot. It’s tightly-packed with facts and focused on its subject, informative but never truly galvanizing in its approach. The doc doesn’t ever attempt to really get behind the mind of its protagonist. What drove him? What was Mifune’s relationship with his beautiful actress wife? At one point, one of the talking heads comments, “Toho wasn’t big on roles for women.” Why not explore this subject, still relevant today, a little more? How did Mifune feel about women in cinema? Beyond the actor’s dedication, uncanny ability to reassure actors, his relationship with Kurosawa, the influence of his films and the stalwart’s affinity for alcohol, we really don’t get much insight into the legend’s actual brain.
Okazaki’s documentary is a reminder of the incredible films that helped shape some of the best of contemporary filmmaking, even if it did include ambitious duds like Reeves’ loving odes to the all-time greats. A visual Wikipedia of Mifune’s career, “The Last Samurai” may have great passion and ambition but remains unremarkable, barely doing justice to one of the greatest actors to ever grace international screens.
In select theaters now
