Reptilicus (1961) – Review

Oh, Reptilicus, where do we even begin? Imagine if someone took a Godzilla movie, stripped away any semblance of quality, and then sprinkled it with just enough 1960s charm to make it hilariously bad. This is the movie that dares to ask the question, “What if a giant rubber dragon, fresh from a 50% off sale at the local toy store, terrorized Copenhagen with all the ferocity of a slightly agitated cat?”

Our tale begins when some hapless Danish miner (Bent Mejding) stumbles upon a frozen chunk of flesh while drilling for copper deep in the earth. And while you’d think they’d just leave well enough alone and continue looking for copper and forget the bloody discovery, but no—because who doesn’t want to thaw out this discovery and see what happens? Spoiler alert: Nothing good. A section of its tail is flown to Denmark’s Aquarium in Copenhagen, where it is to be kept frozen and preserved in a cold room for scientific study. Stupidly, they left Mr. Petersen (Dirch Passer), a discount Lenny from “Of Mice and Men,” to keep watch. But while he was off doing “Lenny” things, Professor Peter Dalby (Povl Wøldike) nods off at his desk, with the door to the freezer left open and this results in the specimen accidentally being thawed out. Unfortunately, instead of being spoiled, the sample seems to be regenerating.

 

“This completely ruins my plans for a prehistoric barbeque!”

Professor Otto Martens (Asbjørn Andersen), who is in charge of the aquarium, dubs the reptilian species “Reptilicus,” and he compares the creature’s regeneration abilities to those of other animals like flatworms and starfish. Along with him is his team of questionable character tropes, we have the aforementioned Professor Dalby, whose nodding off started this mess, and then there is Otto’s attractive daughter Lise Martens (Ann Smyrner), who provides some nice Danish eye candy but not much else. Next is reporter/scientist Connie Miller (Marlies Behrens in the American version and Bodil Miller in the Danish one) who is around for exposition purposes and to provide a possible love interest – not that we have much time for that – and finally there is Brigadier General Mark Grayson (Carl Ottosen) who hasn’t a clue as to why he had been summoned to Denmark in the first place. Maybe the Danish government have a precog on hand as the need for military advice is soon required.

 

“Can we feed this idiot to the monster?”

During an electrical storm, which knocks out the power and phone lines, Reptilicus has a major growth spurt, and it breaks free of the lab so that it can get a jump on its rampaging. While this is going on, Petersen is off alerting the authorities only to later discover that Reptilicus has killed/swallowed poor Professor Dalby and thus our intrepid group of scientists are down a man and up one giant monster. With help from local military liaison Captain Brandt (Ole Wisborg), it falls to our remaining heroes to come up with a way to halt this prehistoric menace before Denmark becomes the next favourite stomping ground for wandering kaiju, one that looks like it’s two parts dinosaur to one part dragon.

 

Prehistoric or mythological, you be the judge.

The monster — which is capable of spitting a green acidic substance if you are watching the American version — attacks villages, destroys buildings, and devours livestock. The military tries everything from tanks to flamethrowers to stop the beast, but Reptilicus is virtually indestructible. As the monster moves closer to Copenhagen, the situation grows dire, the city’s residents are evacuated, and the military is put on high alert. Dr. Martens and his team work frantically to find a way to stop the creature once and for all. When the creature flees into the depths of the ocean, General Grayson orders depth charges to be used, but Connie quickly points out that using such explosive weaponry would only exacerbate the problem by creating more regenerating monsters.

 

“Have you even been paying attention to the plot?”

As Reptilicus slithers its way across Denmark, wreaking havoc at the speed of a leisurely stroll, the Danish military springs into action, armed with the world’s least effective anti-monster strategy: shooting at it repeatedly while the creature gently nibbles on model buildings. The special effects are the kind that would make even the most devoted Ed Wood fan cringe as we watch in amazement as Reptilicus lumbers across the screen like a drunk uncle after five hours at an open bar – but the real “achievement” was in seeing the blend of stock footage and a surprising amount of rented out Danish military used to depict the titanic struggle. As with any self-respecting giant monster movie, we will be treated to some citywide destruction, and Reptilicus does the best it can do on its meagre budget.

 

“Excuse me, could someone point out any national monuments I could destroy?”

The film concludes in a typical fashion, with the army unable to halt the dragon and General Grayson deciding that bombing it is their only option, that is until Connie once again points out this will only cause the creature to be blown to bits and then those bits in turn becoming thousands of more rampaging dragons. How did Grayson forget this bit of information? Was he hit on the head by the giant sock puppet? Anyway, an offhand remark about drugging the beast is jumped upon, and soon our heroes are concocting a cocktail to launch into the mouth of Reptilicus so that they can put it to sleep and then safely destroy the beast. But as with any decent monster movie, the film ends on a suspenseful note, with the scientists and military officials breathing a sigh of relief, a final shot reveals a small piece of Reptilicus sitting on the ocean floor and growing, hinting that the monster might return.

 

We’re still waiting for the sequel.

Stray Observations:

• The film begins in the frozen mountains of Lapland, high above the Arctic Circle. However, we see no snow in the first scene, in fact, the miners appear to be in a tropical jungle instead.
• Upon finding bloody flesh on the drill bit, the miner declares that is “fossil bone” as well, which is odd as you can’t have bloody meat and skin surrounding fossilized bone.
• Why is there a paleontologist working at a Danish aquarium? Doesn’t Denmark have museums or universities for this guy to get a job at?
• If the film The Thing from Another World taught us anything, it’s that a frozen creature is never going to stay frozen for long.
• At the twenty-seven-minute mark, the plot stops cold so we can have a Denmark travelogue segment, with Connie showing General Grayson all the famous tourist attractions.
• For some reason Svend Viltorft rejoins the plot when Reptilicus begins his rampage, having been absent since dropping off the sample at the aquarium, and I’m not sure why he’s back helping the army track the monster. Are Danish miners known for their monster-hunting skills?
• A few scenes in the Danish version where Reptilicus was shown flying were cut from the U.S. version because the producers thought that they looked “unconvincing.” This leaves me to ask, “Did they think everything else looked convincing?”

 

And they considered this realistic?

This film had a rather weird production as it was actually two pictures shot simultaneously, one directed by Danish director Poul Bang and filmed in the Danish language, the other directed by American producer-director Sidney Pink and filmed in the English language with an almost identical cast. Pink and Bang would take turns throughout each shooting day with Pink directing and filming a shot in English, after which Bang would direct and film the same shot in Danish. Unfortunately, American International Pictures deemed Pink’s as virtually unreleasable and it had to be extensively reworked by the film’s Danish-American screenwriter, Ib Melchior – this is when footage showing Reptilicus vomiting acid saliva was added – and while this angered Pink to such a degree that he filed a lawsuit against AIP it was eventually dropped and Reptilicus was released upon an unsuspecting America in 1962.

 

Monster of Party Beach.

Of course, Reptilicus itself is the true star of this disaster, with the creature’s movements being gloriously awkward and with all the grace of a wind-up toy after too many drinks. And then there’s the infamous scene where Reptilicus spits green goo, which looks more like someone squeezed a bottle of dish soap across the screen. This was supposed to be terrifying, but instead, it’s more like the monster is having a bad case of indigestion. You’ll be left wondering if the filmmakers were trying to make a horror movie or were just trolling the audience. That two versions exist and yet both are equally terrible is not surprising considering they didn’t bother to hammer out a proper script before going into production, that the end result was something closer to what you’d find a port-o-potty than a good movie was almost a foregone conclusion.

 

“Son, do you smell something?”

As for the cast of humans, things aren’t much better. The cast delivers their lines with all the enthusiasm of someone reading a grocery list, which is probably a blessing considering the dialogue found in this script would give any seasoned actor trouble as it was filled with pseudo-scientific mumbo jumbo that’s about as convincing as the monster itself, but as this film was populated by what I assume were outcasts from dinner theatre we weren’t going to find any great moments of thespian brilliance no matter how good or bad the script was. Worse was the attempt to bring comedy to the proceedings in the form of Petersen’s character, who comes across as a low-rent Lou Costello and not remotely funny; the fact that he isn’t devoured by Reptilicus is only one of many failings this film has to offer.

 

“Hey Abbott, this script sucks!”

But let’s be honest, even with all the bad acting and failed comedy on display, Reptilicus has one thing going for it, it’s still one of those movies that’s so bad it’s…well, still pretty bad, but also a lot of fun if you’re in the right mindset. It’s a relic from a time when giant monster movies were churned out like hotcakes, and it stands as a prime example of what happens when budget constraints meet creative ambition head-on—and lose. It’s the cinematic equivalent of a cheesy, oversized souvenir you buy on vacation—totally unnecessary, but impossible to resist. If you can’t love a movie with a wonky puppet waving its head around while hordes of extras run in terror – or laughter if you look at the crowd shots more carefully – then this isn’t your kind of movie, but goofy monsters are your jam. there is much enjoyment to be found here.

 

“Oh, the humanity!”

In conclusion, Reptilicus is a delightful disaster —a movie so bad that it loops back around to become a kind of kitschy masterpiece. If you’re in the mood for some unintentional comedy, terrible special effects, and a plot that makes less sense than a Danish pastry recipe written in Latin, then this is the movie for you. Denmark, you deserved better, but at least you gave us a monster that we’ll never forget—no matter how hard we try.

The Time Tunnel (1966-1976) – Review

Irwin Allen may have been known as The Master of Disaster, giving the world such theatrical classics as The Poseidon Adventure and The Towering Inferno, but he was also a powerful force on television with such great shows as Lost in Space, Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea and Land of the Giants, and today we will look back at his personal favourite, The Time Tunnel.

Irwin Allen’s The Time Tunnel centres on Project Tic-Toc, a top-secret U.S. government experiment designed to explore the feasibility of time travel, because, why not? The project is housed in a massive underground complex in Arizona, where scientists have constructed a sophisticated tunnel capable of sending individuals to any point in time. Dr. Tony Newman (James Darren) and Dr. Doug Phillips (Robert Colbert) are the show’s primary protagonists, two scientists who have been working on the project for years. They become a little upset when United States Senator Leroy Clark (Gary Merrill) shows up to determine if they will continue to be funded, as this facility has cost a large fortune but has shown no tangible results. This is the show’s inciting incident. Clark delivers the ultimatum that either they send someone through time and return him safely during his visit, or their funding will cease. The interesting thing here is, even though he may be a government stooge, he’s not completely wrong.

 

“Your budget on this thing could have ended world hunger.”

Tony volunteers but is turned down due to the danger, needless to say, our hot-headed hero isn’t going to let his life’s work be shut down so defies this decision and sends himself back in time, landing on the deck of the Titanic, and Doug quickly follows after in an attempt to rescue him. The series then follows their adventures as they are involuntarily hurled from one historical event to another, unable to control their destinations or return to their own time, with each episode placing Tony and Doug in a different era, where they encounter significant historical figures and events. From the sinking of the aforementioned Titanic to the Battle of the Alamo, the duo must navigate the dangers of the past while searching for a way back home. They are aided on their journey by those back in the Time Tunnel control room by base commander Lt. General Heywood Kirk (Whit Bissell), Dr. Raymond Swain (John Zaremba), a foremost expert in electronics, and Dr. Ann MacGregor (Lee Meriwether), an electrobiologist whose main job is determining the when and the where of their missing friends. Sadly, these guys are just as trapped as Doug and Tony, as we never see them out of this control room.

 

“Anyone up for karaoke tonight?”

The Time Tunnel explores several recurring themes, most notably the unpredictability and potential consequences of time travel – though it never tackles the grandfather paradox – and each episode serves as a self-contained narrative, with Tony and Doug’s struggle to survive and influence historical events at its core. What is a repeating theme is our two heroes never seem all that concerned with the dangers of messing with history, in the very first episode we have Tony ending up on the Titanic and almost immediately warns Captain Smith about the fate of his ship, urging him to change course, but as Tony is supposed to be this super genius it’s strange that he doesn’t consider the on-world history of 1,517 people who were supposed to die now living.

 

“Captain, have you heard of the Butterfly effect?”

The series often highlights the tension between scientific curiosity and ethical responsibility, as our heroes grapple with the moral implications of their interventions in the past. Lucky for the timeline, whenever Tony or Doug try and explain what horrible events are about to occur, whether it be the sinking of the Titanic or the attack on Pearl Habor, people will either simply not believe them or lock them up for being crazy. Sadly, this narrative crutch is used way too often and its repetitive nature gets old really fast. There are only so many times you can have Tony screaming “You don’t understand, you are all going to die. I know this because I’m from the future” before you start wanting to see him go down with the Titanic or be bombed by the Japanese.

 

Shoot him and save us all a lot of grief.

The show also delves into the idea of history as a living, mutable force, rather than a fixed and immutable sequence of events. This perspective allows for a dynamic storytelling approach, where historical accuracy is sometimes sacrificed for dramatic effect. The series’ episodic structure, with its “adventure-of-the-week” format, enabled the exploration of diverse historical periods and scenarios, keeping the narrative fresh and engaging. Another interesting aspect is the fact that Doug and Tony never actually change historical events so it’s possible that their excursions in time were always part of history and that their interactions with the past were destined to occur.

 

As to their encounters with aliens, who knows?

Stray Observations:

• We are told the Time Tunnel complex cost $7.5 billion in 1968 to build, which is equivalent in purchasing power to about $66 billion today. I can see why Senator Clark was a little concerned about the price.
• Despite the Time Tunnel being a top-secret project, hidden beneath desert sands, they bring in a surprising number of outsiders to help save Tony and Doug, from other governmental branches to even foreign dignitaries.
• Our time travellers tend to land somewhere significant, like on board the Titanic or at the Battle of Troy, their never somewhere boring and uneventful. Of course, if that were the case, it would be a pretty boring show.
• Doug and Tony are scientists and it is never stated that they’ve had any kind of special military training, yet throughout the series they prove to be well-versed in hand-to-hand combat and even out-duel numerous Trojan soldiers with swordplay.
• For the episode “One Way to the Moon” much of the spacewalking and moonwalking scenes are re-used footage from Destination Moon (1950).
• Tony and Doug travel to various lands and countries, many of which have different languages, yet everyone speaks English and the two travellers can understand them. Did the Time Tunnel provide them with a Universal Translator like in Star Trek?
• Actor Sam Groom, who plays Jerry one of the Time Tunnel technicians, would later star in Irwin Allen’s failed reboot of this series, Time Travelers in 1976.
• The elevators used in Tic Toc came from the Metaluna set seen in 1955’s This Island Earth and is another great example of Irwin Allen utilizing pre-existing sets and props.
• Every time they jump to a new time/location they end up back wearing their original clothes regardless of what they’d changed into, often with their new clothes simply vanishing like magic.

 

I’d love to have seen them show up at Custer’s Last Stand dressed like this.

Irwin Allen brought his penchant for grandiose and elaborate productions to The Time Tunnel and the show’s set design was particularly noteworthy, featuring the iconic tunnel itself—a marvel of mid-century science fiction aesthetics. The impressive set, with its spiralling lights and futuristic control room, became a visual hallmark of the series. The special effects were also ambitious for their time, utilizing a combination of practical effects, stock footage, and early chroma key technology to depict time travel and historical settings. The scenes of the Time Tunnel underground complex are similar to but not the same as those in 1956’s Forbidden Planet, representing one of the service columns in the giant Krell machine buried under the surface of Altair IV.

 

This is what 7.5 billion dollars will get you.

Sadly, despite getting decent ratings the show only lasted one season, with the cost of the series being the main reason behind its cancellation – at the time of its production from 1966 to 1967, this series was the most expensive television show ever produced by any studio and the Time Tunnel complex took up two huge soundstages at 20th Century Fox – and while the studio was willing to greenlight a second season they insisted that Allen would have to cut the budget by a third, something he was not willing to do. I’d say Irwin Allen was quite justified in his decision, as he utilized stock footage, costumes and sets from previous 20th Century Fox productions he was already saving the studio a bundle, so asking him to cut costs even further was pretty ridiculous.

 

How can you cancel a show that looks this cool?

Though The Time Tunnel was not a ratings juggernaut and faced stiff competition from other popular shows of the era, it has garnered a cult following over the years. The series’ imaginative premise and adventurous spirit have inspired numerous time travel narratives in television and film. Its influence can be seen in later series such as Doctor Who, Voyagers, Quantum Leap and Timeless, all of which explore the complexities and paradoxes of time travel in similar ways. Moreover, The Time Tunnel reflects the optimistic and adventurous spirit of the 1960s, a time when space exploration and scientific discovery captured the public’s imagination. The show’s emphasis on exploring the unknown and pushing the boundaries of human knowledge resonated with the contemporary zeitgeist.

 

“Can someone get Samuel Beckett on the phone?”

In conclusion, Irwin Allen’s The Time Tunnel remains a beloved and influential entry in the science fiction television canon, with its innovative concept, coupled with engaging storytelling and pioneering special effects, it has ensured its place in the pantheon of genre classics. And while it may have only lasted one season it pulled in an amazing collection of guest stars, with the likes of Michael Rennie, Carroll O’Connor, Ellen Burstyn, Mako and Tom Skerritt. Short-lived or not, The Time Tunnel’s legacy endures, reminding us of the timeless allure of time travel and the lasting quest to understand our past, present, and future.

Zero Woman: Red Handcuffs (1974) – Review

 

In the 1960s, a rather bizarre genre exploded into Japanese theatres called “Pink Films,” which were movies produced by independent studios that included nudity (hence ‘pink’) and most often dealt with sexual content. Then, in the 1970s, major studios started producing a line of what came to be known as “Pinky Violence films,” and while these films still had the sexual element, they focused more on action and gore. Enter Hiroo Matsuda’s Zero Woman: Red Handcuffs, a quintessential entry in the genre.

Based on Tōru Shinohara’s manga “Zeroka no Onna” Zero Woman: Red Handcuffs tells the story of a disgraced cop sent on a most perilous mission. The film opens with a shocking and brutal sequence in which Rei (Miki Sugimoto), the titular “Zero Woman,” wearing her signature blood-red handcuffs, executes a man in cold blood. The man, as it turns out, was a high-ranking politician who had raped and murdered a young woman, but her superiors are none too happy with this, telling Rei, “Your sense of duty is too strong” and she is unceremoniously packed off to prison. Lucky for her – if anything in this film can be considered lucky – her punishment is short-lived as she is offered a way out by the authorities. In exchange for her freedom, she must embark on a dangerous mission to rescue a politician’s kidnapped daughter from a gang of ruthless criminals.

“If you should choose to accept this mission…”

The main villain in this movie, one among many, is the sadistic and unpredictable ex-con Nakahara Yoshihide (Eiji Go), who along with his ruthless gang psychos, rapes the daughter (Hiromi Kishi) of a rich and prominent politician Nagumo Zengo (Tetsurō Tamba), but it’s when the rape turns into a kidnapping that the plot kicks into gear. Rei is given a clear directive from Division Zero, from her old boss Hidaka Masashi (Hideo Murota), to eliminate the kidnappers and rescue the girl. Armed with her red handcuffs and a gun, she infiltrates the criminal underworld, tracking the gang to their hideout. Along the way, she encounters various seedy characters and is forced to endure harrowing ordeals, including being captured and tortured by the gang members.

Even the lesbian brothel owner gets in on the action.

As Rei closes in on the gang, the film delves into themes of betrayal, corruption, and the fine line between justice and revenge. The police, who initially seem to be using Rei as a disposable asset, reveal themselves to be just as corrupt and morally compromised as the criminals. Rei, too, is not a traditional hero; her methods are brutal, and her motivations are rooted in a deep-seated need for vengeance rather than any sense of duty or justice. Rei is not an unstoppable kick-ass fighter – a far cry from the characters found in movies starring the likes of Michelle Yeoh – as the fights in this movie focus more on brutality rather than well-choreographed martial arts battles. But will Zero Woman be able to rescue the girl? How much blood and violence will she have to endure? Can she trust the clearly corrupt police force? Is blood, death and betrayal the only likely outcome? All this and more will be answered in Zero Woman: Red Handcuffs, a grim and nihilistic tale full of violence and debauchery.

This is not a Hallmark Channel movie.

Stray Observations:

• If someone accuses you of rape and murder and your response is “So what if I did?” Getting shot in the dick and then killed is kind of your fault.
• To keep her cover, Rei has to allow herself to be bound, whipped and raped by Nakahara’s gang. If that’s not dedication to a job, I don’t know what is.
• We see Nakahara’s gang pissing on a sign that says “Urination Prohibited” but as we’ve already seen the commit murder and multiple rapes, did we really need this extra bit of lawbreaking?
• James Bond fans may recognize Tetsurō Tamba, who plays the corrupt politician Nagumo Zengo in this film, as the character of Tiger Tanaka in You Only Live Twice.
• Rei’s trademark red trench coat has me wondering if she wasn’t the inspiration for the look of thief/adventurer Carmen Sandiego.

“Where in the world is Zero Woman?”

Directed by Yukio Noda, this film is a brutal and nihilistic example of the pinky violence genre, and its aesthetic is pure 1970s grindhouse, with its gritty cinematography, garish colours, and a pulsating soundtrack that complements the film’s chaotic energy. Miki Sugimoto’s performance as Rei is a standout as she brings a stoic, almost emotionless quality to the character, making her seem more like a force of nature than a traditional heroine. Her cold demeanour and relentless pursuit of justice make her a compelling figure, even when the film delves into some deeply unsettling territory. Sugimoto’s screen presence is magnetic, and she carries the film with a combination of raw intensity and understated elegance.

She may be cold and ruthless, but she’s good at her job.

It’s safe to say that this film is not for the faint of heart, it is unapologetically violent, with scenes of torture, rape, and murder that are depicted graphically and unflinchingly, but beneath the lurid surface lies a fascinating commentary on the abuse of power and the corruption that permeates society. Rei’s journey is one of defiance against a system that is as corrupt as the criminals she faces, and her cold detachment and relentless pursuit of justice make her a compelling, albeit tragic, figure. With death and betrayal an ever-present danger, we can understand why Rei keeps herself detached from pretty much everything.

The cops are just as dangerous as the criminals.

However, Zero Woman: Red Handcuffs is not without its flaws. The film’s relentless focus on violence and degradation can be overwhelming, and at times it feels gratuitous. The narrative is thin, serving mainly as a vehicle for the film’s more shocking elements. This lack of depth can make the film feel more like an exercise in shock value rather than a fully realized story. Additionally, its treatment of women is problematic, often crossing into misogynistic territory, which can be difficult to reconcile with modern sensibilities.

Just let that soak in for a minute.

Despite these criticisms, Zero Woman: Red Handcuffs is an important piece of exploitation cinema. It captured the raw, unfiltered energy of 1970s Japanese genre films and pushed the envelope in terms of content and style, standing out as a raw and visceral piece of exploitation cinema. Its unrelenting pace and stark depiction of violence make it a memorable entry in the genre. For fans of Pinky violence or those interested in the darker side of 1970s Japanese cinema, this film is a must-watch. It’s a film that leaves a mark—both disturbing and intriguing, a testament to the era’s fearless approach to filmmaking.

Branded to Kill (1967) – Review

Seijun Suzuki’s Branded to Kill is not your typical gangster film, nor is it your typical anything. This 1967 film is not just a crime thriller – though it does feature the yakuza and a variety of hitmen – it’s more a fever dream where the boundaries between reality and fantasy blur, creating a cinematic experience that is as disorienting as it is fascinating. So let us take a look at a movie that defies categorization.

The film opens by introducing Goro Hanada (Jô Shishido), a professional assassin with a peculiar obsession: the smell of boiling rice. Hanada is known for his cool, detached demeanour and his precision in carrying out hits. He is married to Mami (Mariko Ogawa), a sultry and manipulative woman who plays a crucial role in his life and work but is also having an affair with yakuza boss Michihiko Yabuhara (Isao Tamagawa), which is as dangerous as it sounds. It is quickly established that Hanada’s status as the third-ranked hitman in Japan is revered and feared within the criminal underworld, but despite this prestige, he clearly wants to be number one. The first job we see him on involves escorting a client from Sagami Beach to Nagano and dispatching numerous killers along the way, proving he is quite good at his job.

 

“I’ve always hated escort missions.”

Unfortunately, things go off the rails. Hanada is hired by an unnamed client to carry out a series of assassinations, and while these assignments go smoothly until the final hit, where he is tasked with killing a foreign target, the mission goes awry when a butterfly lands on the barrel of his gun just as he is about to take the shot. This split-second distraction causes him to miss his target, a failure that marks the beginning of his downfall. This botched hit puts him in a precarious position. In the world of contract killers, failure is not an option, and Hanada soon finds himself the target of his own profession. The client who hired him is furious, and a contract is placed on Hanada’s life. This turn of events plunges him into a world of paranoia and danger, where he must constantly be on guard against those seeking to kill him. Of course, it’s not only murder and mayhem.

 

The life of a contract killer has its upsides.

During his downward spiral, Hanada encounters Misako (Annu Mari), a mysterious and morbid woman who becomes a pivotal figure in his life. Misako is a femme fatale with a death wish, seemingly indifferent to life and obsessed with death. She becomes involved with Hanada, and their relationship is marked by a strange blend of eroticism and nihilism. Misako’s ambivalence toward life and her desire to die creates a dangerous dynamic between the two.  The following exchange kind of sums up their relationship.

Misako: “I love you.”
Hanada: “Damn it! Don’t mock me! I could kill you with one shot!”
Misako: “But you won’t until you’ve ravished me.”
Hanada: “Damn it!”

 

Their relationship is complicated, to say the least.

As Hanada’s life unravels, he is pursued by the top-ranked assassin, Number One (Kôji Nanbara). Number One is a ruthless and enigmatic figure, seemingly invincible and always one step ahead of Hanada. The two engage in a deadly game of cat and mouse, with Hanada trying to survive while Number One methodically closes in on him. The film builds to a tense and surreal climax as Hanada and Number One face off in a final confrontation. The duel between the two hitmen is a psychological and physical battle, with Hanada pushed to the limits of his endurance and sanity. The outcome of their encounter is ambiguous, leaving the audience to question the true nature of Hanada’s fate.

 

“From Hell’s heart, I shoot at you.”

Stray Observations:

• Goro Hanada is the Japanese underworld’s third-ranked hitman, but I’d like to know how these rankings are achieved. Is there some form of Yelp review system for contract killings?
• Joe Shishido, whose surgically altered chipmunk cheeks are as unforgettable as the film itself, makes for a very odd but compelling hitman.
• Feeling up a woman whose hitman husband is in the next room does not seem all that conducive to a long and happy life.
• Hanada has sex on a metal spiral staircase, which I’d say is almost as dangerous as fending off numerous contract killers. It certainly can’t be all that comfortable.
• One of Hanada’s kills is through an opening in a billboard, which could have been borrowed from the Bond film From Russia with Love (1963).
• Sakura, the second-ranked hitman, is set on fire but still manages to run about 300 yards before Hanada shoots him dead. That’s got to be some kind of distance record.

 

This could make for a cool Olympic sport.

Branded to Kill is a kaleidoscope of visual experimentation with the director taking the tropes of the yakuza genre and twisting them into something unrecognizable and utterly unique. Visually, this film is a feast for the eyes as Seijun Suzuki and cinematographer Kazue Nagatsuka employ bold, inventive cinematography that includes stark black-and-white contrasts, extreme close-ups, and off-kilter framing. The film’s surreal style is matched by its erratic pacing, which can be disorienting but also exhilarating. It’s as if Suzuki is constantly pulling the rug out from under you, challenging you to keep up with his feverish vision. The editing is frantic, almost hallucinatory, chopping up time and space in a way that feels disorienting and exhilarating all at once.

 

What is real and what is simply cool filmmaking is for you to judge.

The story itself is a labyrinth of double-crosses, surreal encounters, and existential dread. The narrative itself is almost secondary to the film’s aesthetic and mood. While there is a plot—centring on Hanada’s attempts to survive as he becomes a target himself—it’s often overshadowed by the film’s eccentricities. Scenes shift from tense shootouts to dreamlike sequences with little regard for conventional storytelling. But that’s the point: Branded to Kill is more about the experience than the narrative. That deadly game of cat and mouse that makes up the film’s last act is as baffling as it is brilliant—a fitting end to a film that seems to exist in its own warped dimension.

 

A Killer Odd Couple.

But beyond the chaos, there’s something deeply cool about Branded to Kill. It’s a film that doesn’t care if you understand it; it just wants you to experience it. The characters are archetypal, almost mythical, with Hanada’s stoic demeanour contrasting sharply with the film’s more outlandish elements. The dialogue is sparse, with long stretches of silence filled only by the sound of footsteps, gunfire, or the incessant whir of a projector reel. The surreal landscape and bizarre characters all spin together to create an absurdist deconstruction of the crime genre that may have you questioning your own sanity.

 

Don’t ask me what’s up with all the butterflies.

As for our lead actor, Joe Shishido’s performance as Hanada is iconic; his chiselled cheeks and deadpan delivery make him a unique antihero. He’s a man of few words, driven by primal urges and professional pride, yet there’s a vulnerability to him that becomes more apparent as the film progresses. The supporting characters are equally memorable, especially Annu Mari as the enigmatic femme fatale Misako, whose death wish adds layers of intrigue and danger, making the film’s surreal world feel inhabited by equally surreal characters.

 

A femme fatale with a death wish.

In the end, Branded to Kill is a film that defies easy categorization. It’s a yakuza movie, but also a satire, a surrealist art piece, and a fever dream all rolled into one. The film’s legacy is undeniable. Despite its initial poor reception—leading to Suzuki’s dismissal from Nikkatsu Studios—Branded to Kill has since become a cult classic, influencing filmmakers like Quentin Tarantino and Jim Jarmusch. Its avant-garde approach to genre cinema has earned it a place in the pantheon of must-see films for cinephiles. It’s a movie that won’t appeal to everyone—its unconventional style and fragmented narrative can be challenging—but for those willing to take the plunge, it’s a wild ride that’s impossible to forget.

Tokyo Drifter (1966) – Review

Planning a career change can be tough, but it’s even tougher when your previous career was that of a yakuza hitman. With Tokyo Drifter, director Seijun Suzuki tackles this fun topic with a vibrant explosion of style and chaos, in a cinematic fever dream that eschews conventional narrative in favour of visual panache.

The plot centres on Tetsuya “Phoenix” Hondo (Tetsuya Watari), a former yakuza hitman trying to leave his violent past behind. This will goes as well as expected. The film opens with a stark, desolate landscape, where Tetsuya is being pursued by rival gang members, and while narrowly escaping we later learn that Tetsuya has decided to retire from his criminal life out of loyalty to his boss, Kurata (Ryuji Kita), who is also trying to go straight. Kurata’s gang is disbanding, hoping to legitimize their operations and leave behind the world of crime.

 

This goes as well as expected.

Needless to say, this decision does not sit well with rival gangs who see this as an opportunity to eliminate Kurata and his men. But as any good noir protagonist knows, escaping the clutches of your former life is easier said than done. The primary antagonist, Otsuka (Eimei Esumi), is the head of a rival gang, and he wants to take over Kurata’s territory and is particularly interested in acquiring Kurata’s office building. When Kurata refuses to sell, Otsuka plots to force him out of the picture. Tetsuya, who remains fiercely loyal to Kurata, becomes a target as well. Along the way, Tetsuya runs into Kenji “Shooting Star” Aizawa (Hideaki Nitani), a former Otsuka man who defected from the group and attempts to lure Tetsuya back into a life of violence.

 

“Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.”

Despite his best efforts to live a peaceful life, Tetsuya is pulled back into the underworld. He is constantly pursued by hitmen hired by Otsuka, including Tatsuzo the Viper (Tamio Kawaji), and is forced to fight back in order to survive. Tetsuya’s internal struggle is palpable—he longs to leave his criminal past behind, but circumstances compel him to revert to his deadly skills. The theme song “Tokyo Drifter,” sung by Tetsuya, underscores his status as a man who can never truly settle down, forever drifting through life Tetsuya finds himself relentlessly pursued by rivals and former allies alike, forcing him to drift through a surreal, ever-shifting Tokyo landscape.

 

Nightclubs continue to be very dangerous working environments.

Unfortunately, realizing that Tetsuya’s presence is a liability, Kurata betrays him to save his own skin, agreeing to hand Tetsuya over to Otsuka. Betrayed by his mentor and hunted by both the Otsuka gang and his former allies, Tetsuya becomes a drifter, wandering through Tokyo and the surrounding areas. He is pursued by Otsuka’s men, leading to a series of violent confrontations. Tetsuya’s journey takes him through a variety of strikingly designed settings, from a desolate train station to a modernist nightclub. Each location is infused with a sense of surrealism, reflecting Tetsuya’s disconnection from the world around him.

 

“I hope an old-fashioned Western brawl doesn’t break out in there.”

In the final moments of the film, Tetsuya, now a true drifter, walks away into the distance, having severed his ties to both the yakuza and the people he once called friends, even leaving behind his girlfriend, Club Alulu singer Chiharu (Chieko Matsubara), and with his future uncertain he remains a man without a home, forever drifting, caught between the desire for a peaceful life and the violence that defines him. Tokyo Drifter closes with the haunting image of Tetsuya alone, embodying the film’s central theme of alienation and the impossibility of escaping one’s past. The vibrant, surreal visuals and the recurring theme song reinforce the sense that Tetsuya’s journey is as much a psychological odyssey as it is a physical one.

 

If you are a killer with a moral code, you’re allowed to wear white.

Stray Observations:

• Beating up a former yakuza enforcer to find out if we will fight back is something that will most likely come back to bite you in the ass.
• The film’s wonderful visual style was inspired by the 1971 anime Rupan Sensei, both feature characters in coloured suits, have a very comical and playful undertone, and have a general emphasis on entertainment over logic.
• You have to respect a professional killer who has his own theme song, and that Tetsuya sings it himself is even more impressive.
• The high stylization of the cinematography greatly influenced the work of Quentin Tarantino, and his films Kill Bill and Pulp Fiction owe a lot to Seijun Suzuki.

 

When style is the substance.

The film is a feast for the eyes, with Suzuki using bold, exaggerated colours and striking compositions to create a world that feels both grounded in reality and completely detached from it. Every scene is meticulously crafted, whether it’s a gunfight in a blindingly white snowfield or a nightmarish nightclub showdown bathed in neon lights. The film’s style is so overwhelming that it often feels like the story is secondary to the visuals. This isn’t a complaint, though—Suzuki’s style is the story. This is a unique cinema experience as every frame is meticulously composed, blending pop art sensibilities with traditional Japanese aesthetics. This is not a Tokyo of bustling streets and crowded markets, but a dreamlike cityscape where danger lurks in every corner and the line between friend and foe is blurred.

 

A world where even morally questionable friends can help in the end.

The film’s narrative is intentionally disjointed, reflecting Tetsuya’s fractured psyche as he navigates his treacherous world and Yasunori Kawauchi’s screenplay consists of sparse dialogue, often cryptic, leaving much to interpretation. This can be disorienting for those expecting a straightforward gangster flick, but for those willing to embrace the chaos, it’s a thrilling ride. Suzuki plays with genre conventions, infusing the film with a surreal, almost operatic quality that elevates it above the standard yakuza fare of the time.

 

We get both gun battles and sword fights, what’s not to love?

The characters in Tokyo Drifter are equally stylized, especially Tetsuya, who embodies the cool, detached anti-hero archetype. Dressed in his iconic powder blue suit, Tetsuya drifts through the film with an almost Zen-like calm, even as the world around him descends into chaos. He also really knows how to rock a powder blue suit. Watari’s performance is perfectly in tune with Suzuki’s direction, offering a protagonist who is as much a part of the film’s aesthetic as the set designs and colour schemes.

 

You have to respect a nicely stylized gun battle.

In conclusion, Tokyo Drifter isn’t for everyone. Its fragmented narrative, surreal visuals, and stylized violence can be alienating. But for those who appreciate cinema that challenges conventions and embraces the avant-garde, it’s a masterpiece. Suzuki’s film is a kaleidoscopic journey through the underworld of Tokyo, where honour and betrayal collide in a blaze of colour and sound. It’s a film that stays with you, lingering in the mind long after the credits roll, much like the haunting refrain of Tetsuya’s theme song.