It’s not exactly a secret that some elements – most elements – of Quentin Tarantino’s two-part magnum opus Kill Bill are inspired (if not straight up lifted) from other films. Over the course of the films’ cumulative four-hour-plus running time, Tarantino makes a nest out of bits from nearly every niche of cult cinema imaginable, from spaghetti westerns and giallo horror to chop-socky and blaxploitation. In particular, the various genres of Japanese cinema loom large in Tarantino’s psyche: samurai epics, yakuza thrillers, and even anime are all major ingredients of the stew (no kaiju, sadly, though maybe he’s saving that for the long-considered Volume Three). It’s a testament to Tarantino’s skill as a filmmaker that this patchwork feels fresh, rather than derivative; rather than simply regurgitate, the filmmaker weaves his influences into a colorful pop-art pastiche.

What few people realize, however, is that this brand of pastiche is itself an homage. Following the French New Wave revolution, Japan saw a rise in genre-defying, flamboyantly edited, postmodern pulp romps, in which we can now define a distinctly Tarantinonian flavor. Perhaps no filmmaker better embodied this strain than Seijun Suzuki (currently receiving a long overdue retrospective at the Brattle and HFA), and few of Suzuki’s films exemplify it like Tokyo Drifter.

For all its artistic flourishes, Drifter has its roots in the commercial: studio Nikkatsu commissioned Suzuki to tailor a feature film around Tetsuya Watari’s hit single of the same name. In western terms, this is a little like if the producers of Jailhouse Rock had somehow wound up with Band of Outsiders instead. The plot is simple: Watari plays “Phoenix” Tetsu, a former yakuza gangster who flees Tokyo rather than attract old enemies to his girlfriend and father figure, then returns as pressure mounts. Along the way, there are gunfights, fistfights, double crosses, and moralizing. So far, so yakuza.

But what makes Tokyo Drifter special is the boundless energy Suzuki brings to the proceedings: bar brawls are choreographed like ballets, edits ricochet like bullets, and nightclubs are enormous caverns drenched in a single neon color. A gangster conference is shot entirely from beneath the villain’s chair, and a duel is set on a snowy train track – with a train approaching. A prologue is shot in grainy black and white, with key items tinted red. And, owing to the film’s origins, the male and female lead frequently stop for a musical number; each only has one song, but inflected with a dazzling array of emotions. Like Tarantino, Suzuki’s films play like a curated set of ideas; unlike Tarantino, however, it’s doubtful you’ve seen them before.

https://youtu.be/6wxDwxIEJxE

Tokyo Drifter
1966
dir. Seijun Suzuki
83 min.

Part of the ongoing series: Time and Place are Nonsense! The Cinema According to Seijun Suzuki