10 Reasons Why You Should Watch Akira Kurosawa Movies

Learned from: Rashomon (1950)

The most intricate and puzzle-like of Kurosawa’s films, the groundbreaking Rashomon is still a jaw-dropper 60 years after the fact. Told through the eyes of four different characters, it’s a courtroom drama minus any actual legal quarters or clichés—hell, Rashomon established many ideas that have since devolved into clichés. The plot is a headbanger: After a woman is raped and her husband is slaughtered, a quartet of witnesses recount their versions of the events, frequently contradicting each other’s accounts and twisting the story into an Auntie Anne’s mystery that’s tricky to decode the first time around.

Fans of the countless lawyer and cop shows on television are no doubt familiar with the “Rashomon effect,” even if they don’t realize it. To broaden matters a bit, pretty much any piece of whodunit fiction told through eyewitness accounts owes its existence to this Kurosawa masterwork. Hollywood has tried several times to emulate Rashomon—sometimes well (Courage Under Fire), and other times so ineptly that you’d wish Kurosawa could backhand slap producers from beyond the grave (Vantage Point).

Learned from: Runaway Train (1985)

Who doesn’t love Danny Trejo? Younger heads should know him as “Machete,” but more experience film buffs give the Mexican-American veteran props for his small but always memorable roles in countless genre favorites. He’s also responsible for toughening us up. One of the many interesting things about Trejo is that he never dreamed of being an actor; his film career happened by chance.

While the 1985 action flick Runaway Train was in production, everyday civilian Trejo visited a friend on the set; the movie’s screenwriter, Edward Bunker, was also on set, and recognized Trejo, with whom he’d served time in San Quentin. The future Machete was first hired as a boxing trainer for star Eric Roberts, which led to Trejo’s first on-screen appearance as a pugilist whose ass gets handed to him by Roberts (as seen in the clip above).

What does this have to do with Akira Kurosawa? Today’s late birthday boy originally wrote the screenplay for Runaway Train, an original idea of his that he ultimately couldn’t direct. Had Kurosawa never written Runaway Train in the first place, B-movies and discussions about omnipresent character actors would be much emptier. And we’d still be the opposite of “badass.”

Learned from: The Hidden Fortress (1958)

Kurosawa fans hold special places in their hearts for The Hidden Fortress, a briskly staged adventure about two simple-minded peasants helping two much higher-ranking types sneak a royal treasure out of a land flanked with sword-wielding goons. Unlike most of the director’s work, The Hidden Fortress squeezes in a good amount of sight gags and jokey dialogue; there’s still plenty of samurai action, but not without occasional levity.

High-scale adventure and action mixed with humor, and led by a pair of lowly servants—sound familiar? Play the first Star Wars movie back in your minds. Adventure? Check. Lighter moments for comedy’s sake? Present. A story framed around two likeable sidekicks? R2D2 and C-3PO approve. In the past, George Lucas acknowledged the direct inspiration taken from The Hidden Fortress. As legend has it, Lucas had the basic idea for Luke Skywalker’s first installment in his brain but was stuck on how to construct it; after coming across Kurosawa’s flick, he’d found his story’s arch.

The moral: Anyone who’s ever taken part in a light-saber duel using plastic toys, and at the expense of their dating lives, should big-up Mr. Kurosawa. Those who think all the Star Wars movies are crap, however, might loathe the man after learning this piece of trivia, but hold any and all vitriol. It’s not as if any of the Japanese icon’s productions (The Hidden Fortress included) featured a giant blob-like pimp or a Rastafarian alien named Jar Jar. See what happens when George Lucas is left to his own devices.

Learned from: Chintu Ji (2009)

So what if this Bollywood jam really has nothing to do with Akira Kurosawa, despite being named after him? Basically, the song, taken from the 2009 Indian film Chintu Ji, sounds like the ramblings of a female cinema buff suffering from a mean case of Tourette Syndrome. And, yes, the above video has nothing to do with Kurosawa’s cinematic legacy. But, again, who gives a damn?

First of all, if music artists are going to name records after famous people, why not someone as important to pop culture as Kurosawa? Better than him than “Charlie Sheen” (though some corny rapper’s dedication to him should leak online any day now). Here’s the real reason why we fuck with “Akira Kurosawa” the song, though: Sophie Choudry, the Indian actress/model/TV personality/ridiculously hot Kim Kardashian lookalike singing it. Have you ever seen any female half as sexy as Choudry belting out Martin Scorsese’s name while gyrating with bare midriff? We rest our case.

Learned from: Throne Of Blood (1957)

William Shakespeare—the legendary writer our old English teachers used to cram down our throats (no pausing necessary). We get it, the almighty playwright’s catalog is replete with defining works of the medium that any self-respecting writer and/or admirer of prose should read at some point in his or her lifetime. Back in the day, we tried watching cinema’s translations of Shakespeare as way around actually reading his classics before English class, but there was always one problem: the movies aren’t much easier to endure, either. Except for 1990’s Hamlet—crazy-ass Mel Gibson was hardbody in that one.

How did Kurosawa approach the Shakespeare-to-film quagmire? In typically brutal fashion. The greatly titled Throne Of Blood takes the story of Macbeth and sets it within feudal Japan, turning Sir Willie’s royal characters into body-dropping samurai capos. The elegance of Shakespeare remains intact, yet Kurosawa exceeds upon Macbeth’s carnage without alienating those who’d pay to see dudes in drag act out the English bard’s source material on stage.

Which most likely wouldn’t have been the case had he tackled Romeo & Juliet; the one criticism thrown at Kurosawa, even if rather infrequently, is that his films aren’t known for their strong female characters. Under his command, Juliet would probably meet a sword’s sharp end. Hell, we’d pay to see that.

Learned from: Yojimbo (1961)

Before he made the genre-defining A Fistful Of Dollars (1964), Sergio Leone had directed a couple of mid-level “sword and sandal” films, a term used to describe a slew of historical and biblical epics shot in Italy during the late ’50s and early ’60s. Looking to shake things up a bit, Leone turned to Kurosawa’s Yojimbo for motivation. Yojimbo follows a drifter who makes his presence known in a feudal Japanese town overrun by scandal and violence; the Italian filmmaker liked the Japanese film’s basic set-up so much that he transposed Yojimbo’s plot into Mexico for A Fistful Of Dollars, casting a then-unknown Clint Eastwood to play his drifter.

And just like that, an all-new film genre was born. After the success of A Fistful Of Dollars, Leone and Eastwood went on to popularize the “spaghetti western,” an Italy-based movement that ushered “sword and sandal” pics out the figurative door. Stylistically, Leone took several cues from Kurosawa quite unsubtly, from his extreme close-ups of characters’ eyes to his sweeping camera movements.

Considering how famous Eastwood became through his collaborations with Leone, it’s not totally unfounded to say that Mr. Clint’s career also owes a great deal to Kurosawa. But we’re not going to tell Eastwood that to his face—have you seen Gran Torino? He’s one intimidating old man.

Learned from: Ran (1985)

A true filmmaker is never too old to make a movie. Some of the medium’s all-time greats have churned out solid pics at ages exceeding the big 7-0. Ensemble drama master Robert Altman’s final film, A Prairie Home Companion,, was released the same year he died as an accomplished 81-year-old, 2006. And Sidney Lumet—director of such classics as Serpico and Dog Day Afternoon—proved that he hadn’t lost a step at 83 with 2007’s great Before The Devil Knows You’re Dead.

The difference between their elder years’ productivity and Kurosawa’s, though, is that Kurosawa’s Ran, shot at age 75, contains some of his biggest and most complicated battle sequences, all shot with the nimbleness and veracity of a hungry 25-year-old film school wunderkind. Staging epic fights and practically handled (i.e., little if any special effects) showstoppers came naturally to the guy. If he hadn’t slipped and broken the base of his spine in 1995 (which confined him to a wheelchair for the remainder of his life), at age 85, he undoubtedly would’ve kept cranking out extravagant action well into his 90’s.

Learned from: Anything to Kurosawa’s credit

Oh, Japan—how do we love your bonkers, off-the-rails, and fearless horror flicks, thrillers, and anything veering left of center. In recent years, films like Tokyo Gore Police have amped up the bloodshed to operatic levels, while in the past directors such as Takashi Miike assaulted our senses—in the best ways possible—with uncompromisingly raw flicks (Audition, Ichi The Killer). What do all of these movies have in common? An underlying sense of reckless mania.

Kurosawa’s films are impressive on a much higher level. Much more subdued than the aforementioned J-genre fare, his gulliest entries (Seven Samurai, Throne Of Blood) are what film school attendees consume as refined cinema. But, at the same time, fans of sicko flicks like 2002’s Suicide Club can still appreciate them. Heads are lopped off, flesh gets graphically pierced, and body-counts rise faster than a teenage boys pants at a Katy Perry concert. Yet, film historians still consider Kurosawa’s oeuvre to be art of the highest power.

Learned from: Seven Samurai (1954)

Not only regarded as the best Japanese movie of all time, Kurosawa’s Seven Samurai is widely considered to be one of the most important and expertly made films ever made in any country. Directed, edited, and co-written by the man of the hour back in 1954, it’s a violent and epic (clocking in at over three hours long) tale of vengeance and honor. Sounds like a description applicable to any martial arts-themed flick, no? Indeed—except that all others examples of the genre wish they were Seven Samurai.

Seven samurai (hey, no one ever said the title was clever) are hired by residents of a poor and beaten-down Japanese village for protection against bands of criminals during the late 1500s. With a plot as simple as that, Seven Samurai could’ve easily progressed on cruise control and preceded the story-less monotony and mindless brawn of The Expendables by 56 years. Kurosawa didn’t get down like that, though. In his gem, the characters are all well-drawn, the performances hit their marks, and, not surprisingly, the action sequences are massive and seamlessly executed.

And about that “simple” plot: Seven Samurai is credited as being the first movie in which a group of experts are assembled for a common cause, a narrative device that’s since been rehashed to death. The multi-hero plot trope is so common nowadays that it’s actually difficult to accept that there was a “first” of its kind. Even movies without a single fist-and-foot moment have sucked on Kurosawa’s teat—think Ocean’s Eleven and its sequels.

If you’re a dude, chances are you love movies of its kind, right? You know, ones with tons of physical matches and bro-rific camaraderie. Well, Seven Samurai is the genuine article. Claiming to favor action movies despite having never seen this classic is on par with saying you’re a “ladies’ man” without ever reaching first base. It’s time to round the bag, fellas.

Learned from: Years of watching foreign films

Let’s reflect upon the month of cinema that is, and soon was, March 2011. The jury is still out on Zack Snyder’s Sucker Punch, but most of the film that have come out over the last 23 days will evaporate from the popular consciousness within days, if they haven’t already. The best movie of the month is the South Korean thriller I Saw The Devil, a gruesome uppercut of a serial killer flick that’s been largely overlooked in favor of garbage like Battle: Los Angeles. It’s a damn shame.

And it’s also further proof that the majority of moviegoers need to expand their cultural horizons. What better place to start than with Akira Kurosawa’s filmography? Might as well begin with the one of the greats. His legacy as an elite creators of world cinema goes without saying at this point, but we get the feeling that some people aren’t so quick to toss his films into their Netflix queues. Based off the trailers and clips, Kurosawa’s work could seem dated, or tame by modern standards of violence, or—and this is the most infuriating thing any film connoisseur could ever hear—the subtitles require too much viewer-issued effort.

Take our word: Akira Kurosawa’s are what the directors of your favorite Hollywood productions study in order to better themselves.