Joe Andrukaitis

Professor Masahiro Sugano

NMS 509

November 18, 2010

Kurosawa and Mifune: The End of an Era

After the worldwide financial and critical success that was Seven Samurai (1954), the

film’s director, Akira Kurosawa, and its star, Toshiro Mifune, were entering what would become

the greatest phase of their respective careers. The next decade would see this pair of “heavy-

drinking, physically imposing workaholics ” (French, “The Two Samurai”) join forces to produce

some of the finest and most beloved work in all of Japanese cinema, including Throne of Blood

(1957), The Lower Depths (1957), The Hidden Fortress (1958), Yojimbo (1961), and High and Low

(1963). But following the completion of Red Beard in 1965, the two men never worked

together again, despite the fact that they would both continue to work in the film industry until

just before their deaths, only nine months apart, in the late 1990s.

Film scholars can speculate over the myriad reasons behind their permanent split, as

Stuart Galbraith IV does at great length in his 2002 tome The Emperor and the Wolf: The Lives

and Films of Akira Kurosawa and Toshiro Mifune, but it’s impossible to know their true feelings

over the dissolution of such a lucrative and storied partnership. Whatever the reasons behind

their falling out, I will argue that these two men owed it to their audience, to their legacies, and

most importantly to each other to make one last film together.

Andrukaitis 2

The 1985 film Ran, a feudal-era Japanese re-imagining of Shakespeare's King Lear that

Kurosawa referred to as “a culmination of his life’s work” (Galbraith 586), presented the ideal

opportunity for such a reunion. Already in his sixties, Mifune was the appropriate age for the

lead role of the elderly Great Lord Hidetora, but Kurosawa instead chose to cast Tatsuya

Nakadai, 12 years Mifune’s junior. If the director really considered Ran to be his career-defining

statement, he should have at least considered his old friend Mifune for a role that appeared to

be tailor-made for him.

Although these two titans of the Japanese film industry were unquestionably gifted

artists on their own, I will examine some of their projects from the 1950s onward to show that

each man needed the other to produce his best work. The yin-yang balance between

Kurosawa’s nuanced portraiture and Mifune’s scenery-chewing physicality delivered some of

the most magical moments not just in Japanese cinema, but cinema in general, and the absence

of any reunion during the three decades following Red Beard does a disservice to film history.

Yu Fujuki, a young actor who worked with Kurosawa and Mifune on The Lower Depths

(1957), observed their relationship thusly: “When I was working with Mr. Kurosawa, he was

always with Toshiro Mifune. You see, he would voice his ideas about the film through Mifune.

Kurosawa only had to give Mifune a smile – they understood each other completely; Mr.

Kurosawa’s heart was in Mr. Mifune’s body” (qtd. in Galbraith 242). The relationship between

director and leading man garners much attention in the press, just like the relationship between

coach and quarterback in football. Whenever something goes wrong on the screen or on the

field, these are the relationships that bear the most scrutiny. “Many directors have favorite

Andrukaitis 3

actors,” writes Donald Richie, “and many actors have favorite directors. One thinks of John Ford

and John Wayne. The mutual attraction between Akira Kurosawa and Toshiro Mifune was,

however, strongest of all” (“Irreconcilable Differences”).

The director/actor partnership that is almost always mentioned when discussing

Kurosawa and Mifune is that of American Western director John Ford and his iconic star John

Wayne. A young Kurosawa grew up watching Ford's early Westerns and idolized the master

director. After meeting Ford for the first time in England in 1957, Kurosawa began “much like

Ford, to wear sunglasses and a wool cap on set, such was his admiration for him” (Galbraith

245). The way Kurosawa built up his films around Mifune might have been directly influenced

by the way Ford built up his films around Wayne, and it both cases it is nearly impossible to

mention the director's body of work without addressing the importance of his leading man.

One notable difference between “Pappy and The Duke” and “The Emperor and The Wolf” is

that the Ford/Wayne partnership spanned over fifty years while the Kurosawa/Mifune

collaboration lasted less than twenty. Wayne saddled up for Ford in his late career films The

Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (1962) and Donovan's Reef (1963), but Mifune never had the

opportunity to make a similar return to form in Kurosawa’s later pictures.

Another film partnership that receives much attention is that of Martin Scorsese and

Robert De Niro. Just as Ford influenced Kurosawa, Kurosawa in turn influenced Scorsese, who

said: “For me and for many others, he instantly became our master. Our sensei“ (Scorsese,

“Kurosawa”). There are many similarities between De Niro's roles for Scorsese and Mifune's

roles for Kurosawa; the young hoodlum (Mean Streets/Drunken Angel), the justice-obsessed

Andrukaitis 4

loner (Taxi Driver/Stray Dog), the rising star done in by misguided ambition (Raging Bull/Throne

of Blood), the self-made wealthy man (Casino/High and Low). (Brilliant) One could even argue

that De Niro missing out on the role of a lifetime as aging mob boss Frank Costello in The

Departed (2006) is equal to Mifune being snubbed for the Hidetora role in Ran.

Barley Blair of The Stranger wraps up an examination of famous director/actor teams,

writing: “Of the great collaborations, the few that seem sufficient include Anthony Mann with

Jimmy Stewart (eight), John Ford with John Wayne (24), and, of course, Kurosawa with Mifune

(16)” (“My Hero, Toshiro”). To Ms. Blair’s statement I will add that although sixteen films may

have indeed been sufficient to cement a legacy, a Kurosawa/Mifune pairing in Ran would have

only added to their combined legend. (I love your tenacious insistence on this matter. And I

cannot agree more.)

Of Mifune’s astounding amount of feature film appearances, over 150, only sixteen

were with Kurosawa, and this miniscule percentage has everything to do with the Japanese

studio system of the time. Between stints for Kurosawa during the late ‘50s, Mifune continued

to work in Japanese films at a breakneck pace. “After Seven Samurai,” Galbraith explains, “Toho

was anxious to get Mifune into as many films as possible” (211). Outside of his Kurosawa roles,

he may be best known for playing the legendary Musashi Miyamoto in Hiroshi Inagaki’s

Samurai Trilogy.

Although Inagaki’s costume epics displayed a “striking use of color” (Galbraith 204),

critically they paled in comparison to Kurosawa’s more serious fare. One LA Times reviewer

noted: “Many of the shortcomings of a film as colorful as ‘Samurai,’ a medieval Japanese

Andrukaitis 5

legend, can be forgiven simply because it is so colorful and lovely” (205). The sequels did not

fare much better, with Mifune’s performance in Samurai II (1955) described as “unremarkable,

though the script does little to help him” (211). Mifune’s work for other directors would

continue to range from respectable to downright embarrassing, and one wonders whether an

inspired performance in a late Kurosawa picture like Ran could have redeemed the sins of

appearing in so many low-quality films. (Like I said earlier, I enjoy your tenacity on this matter.)

If any single line on Toshiro Mifune’s resume qualified him for the lead in Ran, it was his

masterful performance channeling another Shakespeare hero, MacBeth, in 1957’s Throne of

Blood. I refer to Richie's recurring theme in many Kurosawa pictures, “that of the full circle, or

the spiral, the return to the beginning with a difference, the cyclic” (“The Films” 232). A turn as

Lord Hidetora in Ran would have brought Mifune full circle, from a “wide-eyed, teeth-grinding,

hyper-ventilating “(Galbraith 237) MacBeth to a withered, dying King Lear.

In his following Kurosawa film, an adaptation of Maxim Gorky's The Lower Depths

(1957), Mifune proved he could shine in an ensemble piece without overshadowing a subtle,

character-driven story. Richie goes so far as to argue “this is not only Mifune's finest single role

but also one of the great pieces of acting in Japanese cinema” (“The Films” 128). Galbraith

offers a similar opinion: “That he is excellent in a film brimming with exquisite performances is

a testament to his abilities” (242). I would go on to argue that Mifune’s natural charm is what

rescues the film from turning into a maudlin and ultimately boring meditation on lower-class

misery. It's doubtful such charisma would have dissipated later in life, and just a little bit could

Andrukaitis 6

have gone a long way to liven up a serious epic like Ran, if he were cast as the lead. (Yes, you

are still on it.)

Kurosawa's 1958 adventure picture, The Hidden Fortress, saw Mifune once again

surrounded by an impressive ensemble, yet his performance as a stoic general is never in

danger of overpowering the story. “He gives an admirably restrained portrayal,” Galbraith

writes, “ and, while top-billed, never draws attention away from the lovable buffoons who are

at the film's center” (260). Conversely, his jobs for Toho Studios away from Kurosawa offered

the actor mainly “empty-headed action films markedly lacking the rich characterizations that

stretched Mifune's skills in even his weakest collaborations with Kurosawa” (396). The Hidden

Fortress was grand in scope and loaded with action, much like Ran, and under Kurosawa's

direction, Mifune gives an engaging, yet restrained performance amid the surrounding

mayhem. There’s little doubt he could have performed a similar feat in the later action epic,

Ran.

The 1961 Kurosawa samurai classic Yojimbo “redefined Mifune's screen persona. Up to

now his samurai roles outside of Kurosawa's films were more along the lines of Musashi

Miyamoto” (Galbraith 304). His many later samurai heroes “would have little of the humor

found in Yojimbo or its sequel. This was usually lost on filmmakers who aped the film's style”

(304). The lead role in Ran may have given Mifune another shot at a career re-invention,

although according to Kurosawa's son Hisao, the actor was hardly interested in re-inventing

himself later in life. “He wanted to be strong, but sometimes you have to change your colors . . .

Andrukaitis 7

Eventually he'd have to play an old man. But he still wanted to be a tough guy” (qtd. in

Galbraith 524).

When imagining Mifune in Ran, one must consider the possibility that his sheer physical

presence would detract from the bigger picture in a film that is supposed to be “a series of

human events viewed from Heaven” (Richie, “The Films” 219). Yet in the modern-day suspense

film High and Low (1963), “Kurosawa trades off the broadly physical parts Mifune usually

played by giving him a role that is almost entirely internal” (Galbraith 351). Mifune’s physically

restrained, yet emotionally wrought portrayal of upper-class shoe executive Gondo could have

easily provided a touchstone for the role of Hidetora in Ran nearly twenty years later.

Red Beard, the final Kurosawa/Mifune film, presented both artists at their artistic and

commercial peaks. Not only was it “the year’s biggest hit”(Galbraith 386), it earned Japanese

film publication Kinema Jumpo’s prizes for Best Film and Best Director, while Mifune won his

second Best Actor award at the Venice International Film Festival. That this film would prove to

be a swan song is tragic, as it occurs at such a relatively early point in each man’s career. The

film marked a major career transition for Mifune as he shifted from the portrayal of the student

to that of the master. Had he continued working with Kurosawa, he may have made the gradual

transition to the type of elder statesman role required of Ran, but his experience on the set of

Red Beard may have been the root cause of a feud that would last several decades. The film

“had been budgeted for a 50-day shoot that extended to more than a year. So Mifune, who was

contractually locked in, was unable to undertake other roles for his own financially-strapped

production company. For this he never fully forgave Kurosawa” (“Dynamic Duo”).

Andrukaitis 8

During the ‘60s and ‘70s Mifune would take on roles “alternating between jidai-geki

spectacles, which he usually produced, and heroic leaders in Toho war movies” (Galbraith 396).

His stock characters in these movies became more and more alike, and he may have hit rock

bottom, at least artistically, when playing Admiral Yamamoto for the third time in the sloppy

American war epic Midway (1976).

By the time Kurosawa was finally preparing for his magnum opus Ran, Donald Richie

suggested that Mifune would be the perfect age to star in the film, to which the director

replied, “he would not work with anyone who had appeared in the likes of ‘Shogun,’ the

American television miniseries” (“Irreconcilable Differences”). It's as if Scorsese refused to work

with De Niro because he appeared in Meet the Fockers (2004). Although according to fellow

director Kaizo Hayashi, “Kurosawa wanted Mifune to play Hidetora, but producer Masato Hara

overruled him. Mifune, argued Hara, was too expensive, so Nakadai was cast in an effort to

reduce costs. But this is unconfirmed” (qtd. in Galbraith IV 581). In examining the possible

autobiographical elements in Ran's story, Richie notes a similarity between the aging director

and his lead character Hidetora: “He may not have had anyone to whom to leave his empire,

but he knew how to banish a filial son—Toshiro Mifune” (“The Films” 219). (Brilliant quote. This

is educating me.)

The banished son Mifune was by the 1980s “a has-been who remained lost without

Kurosawa” (Galbraith 589). Later Kurosawa epics like Kagemusha (1980) and Ran could have

provided Mifune with some much-needed credibility late in his career, while supplying

Kurosawa with a screen presence that was somewhat lacking in those films. As Richard Schickel

Andrukaitis 9

argues, “they could have used Mifune’s energizing presence. If, by then, he had been capable of

mobilizing it” (195). Without his old sensei to guide him, “Mifune's solo efforts continued their

rudderless path into the 1990s” (Galbraith 596). Until the end of his life, his career would “run

on fumes, sinking to the ignominy of play Lou Diamond Phillips’s Eskimo father” (Park, “Last

Men Standing”).

Despite their reported feud, it is clear that both men always maintained admiration for

each other’s talents. During a 1984 retrospective of his work in New York City, Mifune said,

“Why not call it a Kurosawa series instead? I haven’t done much else worth showing” (French,

“The Two Samurai”). In the preface to the first edition of Richie’s The Films of Akira Kurosawa,

Mifune even wrote,” I have never as an actor done anything that I am proud of other than with

him” (qtd. in Galbraith 388).

Although the immodest Kurosawa never went as far as to suggest his only worthwhile

work was with Mifune, he rightly praised his leading man in his 1980 autobiography, saying,

“Mifune had a talent I had never encountered before in. It was above all the speed with which

he expressed himself that was astounding. The ordinary Japanese actor might need ten feet of

film to get across an impression; Mifune needed only three feet” (Kurosawa 161). Although he

also went on record saying, “He was a great actor as long as he was acting in my films” (qtd. in

Galbraith 551).

In the stunning body of work that made up their last several collaborations of the 1950s

and ‘60s, Mifune demonstrated he was able to adapt to more mature roles under the guidance

of his director, and Kurosawa was able to craft more compelling stories around the strengths of

Andrukaitis 10

his leading man. Schickel explains that Mifune “had what Kurosawa needed: the instinctive

intensity to shake up, humanize—with humor, athleticism, and basic good nature—the

director’s rather austere films. In return Kurosawa offered Mifune something he could not find

elsewhere. This was a kind of intellectual coherence” (194).

That Kurosawa and Mifune were one of the all-time great film teams is undeniable. That

they should have collaborated at least one more time on Ran is debatable, but I'm willing to

argue the risks would have been worth the rewards for both men. Even if the onscreen results

weren't quite as magical as the glory days of Throne of Blood, Yojimbo, Red Beard, at least we

wouldn't be left wondering “what if?”

Andrukaitis 11

Works Cited

Blair, Barley. “My Hero, Toshiro.” The Stranger. 7 Nov. 2002. Web.

Dynamic Duo. The Economist 31 Jan. 2002. Web.

French, Phillip. “The Two Samurai.” The Observer. 17 Feb. 2002. Web.

Galbraith, Stuart, IV. The Emperor and the Wolf: The Lives and Films of Akira Kurosawa and Toshiro

Mifune. New York and London: Faber and Faber, 2002. Print.

Kurosawa, Akira. Something Like An Autobiography. New York: Vintage Books, 1983. Print.

Park, Ed. “Last Men Standing.” Village Voice. 30 July 2002: 120. EBSCOhost. Web.

Richie, Donald. The Films of Akira Kurosawa. Berkeley and Los Angeles, California: University of

California Press, 1984. Print.

---. “Irreconcilable Differences: A Fascinating Account of Mifune and Kurosawa’s Artisitic Partnership

and Split.” San Francisco Chronicle. 10 Mar. 2002. Web.

Schickel, Richard. Film on Paper: The Inner Life of Movies. Chicago: Ivan R. Dee, 2008. Print.

Scorsese, Martin. “Akira Kurosawa: Martin Scorsese on the Legendary Director—The Subject of a

Multimedia Exhibition.” Architectural Digest Nov. 2008. Web.

Andrukaitis 12

LIFE AND FILMS OF AKIRA KUROSAWA, MCS 350/AAS 290/NMS 509, FALL 2010

FINAL PAPER RUBRIC

(TOTAL 50)

- Base Point (25pt) (25)

- Thesis (0-3) (3)

- Articulation (0-5) (5)

- Insightfulness (0-3) (3)

- Films (0-5) (4)

Refer to all five films you watched since Seven Samurai. Refer to first four films as necessary.

- Kurosawa’s Life (0-2) (1)

Quote his biography to support your argument.

- Richie’s Opinion (0-2) (2)

Quote Richie on the same topic. Evaluate his opinions.

- Research (0-3) (3)

Cite from at least two printed periodicals. Conduct a general research on the three topics.

- Format (MLA) (0-2) (2)

(TOTAL 48 out of 50)