Harakiri
I watched this film when I wasn’t in a good mood. It was a gamble… and at first, I regretted it a little. Yet despite that, I believe it’s one of the greatest films I have ever seen. Why? Because by the time it ended, I found myself impressed, happy, and mesmerized, yet at the same time confused and regretful.
The regret came from feeling that I didn’t fully grasp the historical context in which the story takes place, even though I believed I had enough cultural background to appreciate a heavy Japanese classic. This film shattered that idea completely.
So I decided to read articles and watch analyses that discuss its brilliance.
I had wanted to watch this film for a long time, especially after hearing about the passing of Tatsuya Nakadai. What a magnificent actor. I had only seen one film of his before, and I was blown away. I wanted to wait and make this my 100th film (Brianrot Letterboxed)… and I was lucky that it turned out to be this one, because it truly deserves such a symbolic number.
The cinematic imagery and the film’s cinematography were the very first things that caught my attention.
And after reading more about it, I understood that Kobayashi wasn’t shooting randomly; he wanted to deliver a visual message through every frame, whether in how he depicted class divisions or how he positioned characters within the scene.
One of the most brilliant examples:
In the film, we see Hanshiro sitting in the position of a man about to perform harakiri. But Kobayashi flips the meaning completely, turning the moment into a theatrical stage ,not for Hanshiro, but for the clan’s lord himself.
The director sends a clear message:
The lord is the one standing on a stage, and his entire rule is a performance draped in the illusion of “honor.”
What incredible visual storytelling.
True honor vs. false honor
The entire film is built around the conflict between two kinds of honor:
True honor , Honor rooted in humanity, in duty, in responsibility toward one’s family, and in sincere sacrifice.
False honor,Honor based on appearance, on reputation, on the fragile pride of the clan
the kind of honor that ends up writing history, erasing Hanshiro’s heroism and turning him into nothing.
The film leaves you questioning from the very first moment:
Who truly holds honor? And who is the real hero?
The iron sword and the wooden sword
Hanshiro never sold his sword because it represented his true honor as a Samurai.
Meanwhile, Motome Chijiiwa sold his sword… as if he sold his honor.
But the reality is deeper: he did it for his family.
He replaced it with a wooden sword and died a humiliating, agonizing death
a death that shows how the system can crush a man simply for breaking its “traditions.”
Hanshiro, on the other hand, died a samurai’s death with his iron sword, a symbol of strength and of choosing one’s destiny.
And the clan’s use of guns is a direct symbol of cowardice hidden behind the mask of honor.
I also loved the film’s mastery of samurai movements and combat stances.
They were precise, elegant, filled with spirit, reminding me of Ghost of Tsushima,
which itself drew inspiration from the films of Akira Kurosawa.
Shinobu Hashimoto wrote the screenplay, and Kobayashi directed a film that fearlessly attacks traditional norms and condemns the old Japanese feudal system.
The film screams:
“Stop glorifying an era that was filled with oppression and cruelty.”
Kobayashi confronted a mindset that no one dared criticize.