Upon its release in 1948, Drunken Angel was hailed in Japan as Akira Kurosawa's directorial breakthrough, comparable to Kubrick's Paths of Glory in the way it catapulted Kurosawa into a higher level of artistic achievement. Kurosawa himself noted, "In this picture I was finally myself. It was my picture. I was doing it and nobody else. " It is indeed an important, vital film, confidently conceived and expertly executed, illuminating themes that would dominate the finest films in Kurosawa's exceptional career. The setting is a rancid, jerry-built section of a postwar city, where a filthy, disease-ridden pond functions as a physical threat and also as the film's central symbol of decay. It's in this hardscrabble environment that a brash young gangster (Toshiro Mifune, in the role that made him a star) visits an alcoholic doctor (Takashi Shimura) to have a bullet removed from his hand. The doctor discovers that the hot-tempered thug is also doomed by tuberculosis, seen here as the physical manifestation of the gangster's moral decay. The doctor is himself diseased by his drinking, and as these clashing men struggle to make some kind of difference in their pathetic lives (spurned by the return from prison of a ruthless yakuza boss), Kurosawa makes unlikely heroes of them both-men who undergo a personal transformation in a vile and violent world. Drunken Angel is a transitional film for Japanese cinema and especially for Kurosawa; it offers a vivid glimpse of postwar life (both rotten and restoring), and signals the full blossoming of Kurosawa's talent. [+]

A masterpiece of filmmaking artifice and mood-setting atmosphere, Kwaidan consists of four ghost stories adapted from the fiction of Greek-born Lafcadio Hearn (a. k. a. Yakumo Koizumi, 1850-1904), who assimilated into Japanese culture so thoroughly that his writings reveal no evidence of Western influence. So it is that these four cinematic interpretations-perhaps more accurately described as tales of spectral visitation-are sublimely Japanese in tone and texture, created entirely in a studio with frequently stunning results. There are painterly images here that remain the most beautiful and haunting in all of Japanese cinema, presented with the purity of silent film, sparsely accompanied by post-synchronized sounds and music (by Toru Takemitsu) that enhance the otherworldly effect of director Masaki Kobayashi's meticulous imagery. When viewed in a receptive frame of mind, Kwaidan can be intensely hypnotic. Each of the four stories find their protagonists confronted by spirits that compel them to (respectively) make amends for past mistakes, maintain vows of silence, satisfy the yearnings of the undead, or capture phantoms that remain frightfully elusive. As each tale progresses, their supernatural elements grow increasingly intense and distant from the confines of reality. With careful use of glorious color and wide-screen composition, Kwaidan exists in a netherworld that is both real and imagined, its characters never quite sure they can trust what they've seen and heard. [+]

True to its Sega video-game roots, this futuristic 60-minute movie includes a lot of yelling, crashing, and exploding on the way to saving the world. Sonic and his sidekicks are determined to thwart a plan that would turn their Land of the Sky into the equivalent of The Land of Darkness, which lurks beneath the surface (and is obviously the former planet Earth). So they plow through to the center of the planet and the ancient city of Robotropolis (the former New York City?) to do righteous battle. The big question of the day is whether the usually evil Dr.  Robotnik is telling the truth for once or sending the good guys into a trap. The tape's producers suggest viewers be at least 7 years old because of its violence, but the rudimentary nature of the animation will probably make it appealing only to hard-core action fans among the older-kid crowd. -Kimberly Heinrichs.

Although best known for his samurai classics, Japanese master filmmaker Akira Kurosawa proved himself equally adept at contemporary dramas and thrillers, and 1962's High and Low offers a powerful showcase for Kurosawa's versatile skill. The great Toshiro Mifune stars as a wealthy industrialist who has just raised a large sum of money to execute his planned takeover of a successful shoe manufacturer. Fate intervenes when he receives a phone call informing him that his son has been kidnapped, and by unfortunate coincidence the ransom demand is nearly equivalent to the amount Mifune has raised for his corporate coup. A philosophical dilemma emerges when it is revealed that the executive's son is safe, and that it is actually his chauffeur's son who has been taken. What follows is both a tense detective thriller, as the police attempt to track down the kidnapper, and a compelling illustration of class division in Japan-the "high and low" of the title. Far be it from Kurosawa to make a mere thriller, however; this loose adaptation of the Ed McBain novel King's Ransom provides the director with ample opportunity to develop a visual strategy that perfectly enhances the story's sociological themes. The Criterion Collection DVD of this extraordinary film is presented in the original "Tohoscope" aspect ratio of 2. 35:1. -Jeff Shannon.

Second part of a trilogy. Conscientious objector Kaji, now forced to serve in the Japanese army during the Second World War, helps a friend defect to the Russians and nearly goes with him. But despite his opposition to war, Kaji does his best to serve as help and guide to the men in his charge, most of whom are doomed to fall to the relentless attack of Russian armored divisions.

A champion of illumination and experimental shading, Kurosawa brings his unerring eye for indelible images to Shakespeare in this 1957 adaptation of Macbeth. By changing the locale from Birnam Wood to 16th-century Japan, Kurosawa makes an oddball argument for the trans-historicity of Shakespeare's narrative; and indeed, stripped to the bare mechanics of the plot, the tale of cutthroat ambition rewarded (and thwarted) feels infinitely adaptable. What's lost in the translation, of course, is the force and beauty of the language-much of the script of Throne of Blood is maddeningly repetitive or superfluous-but striking visual images (including the surreal Cobweb Forest and some extremely artful gore) replace the sublime poetry. Toshiro Mifune is theatrically intense as Washizu, the samurai fated to betray his friend and master in exchange for the prestige of nobility; he portrays the ill-fated warrior with a passion bordering on violence, and a barely concealed conviviality. Somewhat less successful is Isuzu Yamada as Washizu's scheming wife; her poise and creepy impassivity, chilling at first, soon grows tedious. Kurosawa himself is the star of the show, though, and his masterful use of black-and-white contrast- not to mention his steady, dramatic hand with a battle scene-keeps the proceedings thrilling. A must-see for fans of Japanese cinema, as well as all you devotees of samurai weapons and armor. -Miles Bethany.

Yasujiro Ozu's economical style reaches its zenith in this deceptively simple 1953 story of an elderly couple in rural Japan who go to visit their married children in Tokyo. Chishu Ryo (Ozu's favorite performer) and Chieko Higashiyama star as the aging parents who find a cold welcome waiting for them from their two urbanized children, too busy with work and their own lives to pay them any attention. After a miserable trip to a noisy spa, the mother spends a pleasant night with the widow of their other son (who had died in the war) while the father drinks the evening away with old friends. But on their return trip, the mother falls ill and the family reunites one last time at her sickbed. Within this simple framework, Ozu creates a quiet but profound drama of the changing face of Japanese culture and the loss of traditional values in modern society. Described by critics as Japan's most "Japanese" director, Ozu's style by this time had become firmly established: the entire film is shot from an unmoving camera 36 inches from the floor (the point of view of an observer kneeling on a tatami mat), edited in a subtly off-center manner and paced at a placid tempo. Ozu's graceful style, understated direction, and rich evocation of character creates an elegantly realized world of dignity in the face of disappointment and loss. -Sean Axmaker.

This 1950 film by Akira Kurosawa is more than a classic: it's a cinematic archetype that has served as a template for many a film since. (Its most direct influence was on a Western remake, The Outrage, starring Paul Newman and directed by Martin Ritt. ) In essence, the facts surrounding a rape and murder are told from four different and contradictory points of view, suggesting the nature of truth is something less than absolute. The cast, headed by Kurosawa's favorite actor, Toshiro Mifune, is superb. -Tom Keogh.

Shiro is a bondage master of exquisite skill who takes pride in his unique form of art. But when one of his models is found strangled and bound in his trademark style, he must track the killer to his lair - and escape the vengeance of the victim's lover, the leader of the treacherous Blue Dragon Gang!.

The official title of I Live in Fear is Record of a Living Being, and coming as it did after Kurosawa's triumphant Seven Samurai it was perhaps inevitably a box-office failure. With barely a decade passing after the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Japanese filmgoers avoided this serious drama about the gloomy specter of nuclear annihilation. It's not always an easy film to watch, but that's only because the story wields substantial emotional power, taking form as a kind of modern King Lear with its scenario of family strife and internal plotting. As such, it bears tangential relationship to Kurosawa's own rendition of Lear, his final epic Ran. Playing a character twice his age, Toshirô Mifune (barely recognizable from Seven Samurai) is the patriarch of a large extended family (the "I" of the title) who has decided to move to a Brazilian farm to escape the psychological torment of the atomic bomb. Charging him with "mental incompetence," his adult children plot to override his decision, and a mediator (Takashi Shimura) attempts to balance the battle. This turns the film (like much of Kurosawa's work) into a quest for truth: Is the father insane with fear? Are his fears truly justified? In Japan of the 1950s these were not easy questions, and the death during production of Kurosawa's best friend (composer Fumio Hayasaka) lends the film additional gravity and import. If the story and its execution seem at times ambivalent, it's only because Kurosawa (and Japan itself) was still struggling to find meaning-to create a record of a living being-in a world that could be destroyed at any moment. -Jeff Shannon.

This underrated 1964 film directed by Martin Ritt (Sounder, Norma Rae) features Paul Newman in a story influenced by the classic multiple-perspective film Rashomon, with an American spin. Newman (The Hustler, Hud) plays a Mexican bandit in the Old West accused of raping a frontier woman (Claire Bloom), but conflicting stories from the bandit, the woman, her husband, and others soon complicate matters and make finding the truth elusive. Newman has fun with his daring, over-the-top portrayal, and Ritt's socially conscious streak is in evidence here as he investigates whether the truth is left up to whoever defines it. The Outrage is a chance both to see a terrific cast of classic actors and yet another prime example of the influence of great international films. -Robert Lane.

Section 0 is the most covert operation in the Japanese police department. Meet Special Agent Rei, code named Zero. She's beautiful, strong, seductive, and deadly. Rei is on assignment to retrieve millions of dollars in stolen stock certificates from the mob. However, a gang attempting to steal money from a mob courier sends her mission way off course! Zero Department fights for the fealty of its solitary assassin, Zero Woman, when a fumbling waiter melts her icy heart and tries to rescue the world-weary killer from her soul-crushing life. But is her callous, conniving boss right when he insists "There is no place for you but in the Zero Force"? Mikiyo Ohno milks Zero Woman's solitude for tortured loneliness and turns her violent destiny into something approaching pulp tragedy: "I have yet another memory that can't be erased," she laments after yet another fatal showdown. The high-concept hits (she miraculously pulls a gun from her clinging bathing suit to ace a businessman in a swimming pool) and sexual interludes (the nerdy boyfriend scores big-time booty!) are shuffled through a barrage of flashbacks and a subplot about a scarred masseuse whose secret weapon is poison body oil. Sort of takes the fun out of foreplay, doesn't it? Like most of the films in the series, the shot-on-video production manages to turn a low budget into an austere style, but the busy script often gets in the way of the visceral thrills and bogs the story down in unnecessary detail. She shoots people and she likes to get naked: what's there to explain? -Sean Axmaker.

This 1950 film by Akira Kurosawa is more than a classic: it's a cinematic archetype that has served as a template for many a film since. (Its most direct influence was on a Western remake, The Outrage, starring Paul Newman and directed by Martin Ritt. ) In essence, the facts surrounding a rape and murder are told from four different and contradictory points of view, suggesting the nature of truth is something less than absolute. The cast, headed by Kurosawa's favorite actor, Toshiro Mifune, is superb. -Tom Keogh.

Akira Kurosawa's rousing Seven Samurai was a natural for an American remake-after all, the codes and conventions of ancient Japan and the Wild West (at least the mythical movie West) are not so very far apart. Thus The Magnificent Seven effortlessly turns samurai into cowboys (the same trick worked more than once: Kurosawa's Yojimbo became Sergio Leone's A Fistful of Dollars). The beleaguered denizens of a Mexican village, weary of attacks by banditos, hire seven gunslingers to repel the invaders once and for all. The gunmen are cool and capable, with most of the actors playing them just on the cusp of '60s stardom: Steve McQueen, James Coburn, Charles Bronson, Robert Vaughn. The man who brings these warriors together is Yul Brynner, the baddest bald man in the West. There's nothing especially stylish about the approach of veteran director John Sturges (The Great Escape), but the storytelling is clear and strong, and the charisma of the young guns fairly flies off the screen. If that isn't enough to awaken the 12-year-old kid inside anyone, the unforgettable Elmer Bernstein music will do it: bum-bum-ba-bum, bum-ba-bum-ba-bum. [+]

Produced with assistance from George Lucas and Steven Spielberg, Dreams is an omnibus of eight short stories and parables that spell enchantment at every turn. The opening story, "Sun Under the Rain," emerges from director Akira Kurosawa's personal memories, as a child (whose house is modeled after Kurosawa's childhood home in Koishikawa) witnesses a fox's wedding ceremony in a magical forest. The Garden of Eden motif continues in "The Peach Orchard," while Lucas's ILM special effects group shines in the glorious "Crows" segment, in which an art admirer finds himself living within the paintings of Van Gogh (played with concentrated energy by Kurosawa enthusiast Martin Scorsese). In the idyllic closing fable, "The Village of the Watermills," a centenarian claims that "people nowadays have forgotten that they are also part of nature. " The equally wise Kurosawa reinforces the old man's claim through these vivid but ultimately life-affirming tableaux. -Kevin Mulhall.