Over the last few decades, Kiyoshi Kurosawa has challenged international audiences with provocative films about complex human behavior. Whether straightforward family or crime dramas like Tokyo Sonata and Cure or his more well-known forays into bone-chilling horror like Pulse or Seance, Kurosawa’s films remain magnetic watches due to their earnest yet enigmatic and non-judgmental portrayals of deeply relatable people enduring bizarre, often violent obstacles. After a critically-acclaimed 2024 that featured Cloud, Chime, and his French-language remake of Serpent’s Path, his Cannes-premiering The Samurai and the Prisoner marks Kurosawa’s first-ever period drama (jidaigeki). I briefly sat down with Kurosawa to discuss the influences on his new film, as well as what a character historically defined by his alleged cowardice helped Director Kurosawa discover both about his own films, as well as his views on modern-day violence.
This interview has been edited for conciseness and clarity. My immense thanks to Director Kurosawa’s interpreter and coordinating team!
Note: There are light spoilers for the historical events that form the basis of The Samurai and the Prisoner.
Julian Singleton: I know you’ve mentioned 1950s jidaigeki films as an influence on this one. Are there any lesser known films from that era that you’d recommend alongside your film, The Samurai and The Prisoner?
Kiyoshi Kurosawa: One very direct influence is a film that I believe a lot of audiences abroad have also seen is Akira Kurosawa’s Throne of Blood. But there’s another film that I would like for people to see, which is Kenji Mizoguchi’s 47 Ronin from the 1940s. Kenji Mizoguchi himself is very famous abroad, but I don’t think that a lot of people have seen this particular work. So I’d love if people would watch it.
JS: Definitely–Sansho the Bailiff is also one of my favorite films!
KK: Agreed!
JS: Whether your scenes are focused on action or dialogue, much of [The Samurai and the Prisoner] plays like a chambara swordplay duel in extended takes, like the final scene between Murashige and his wife Chiyoho. At what filmmaking stage does that choreography take shape for you, and how does it evolve during production?
KK: As you mentioned, that scene with Murashige and Chiyoho at the very end is by far the longest take. What was important in many of these scenes involving longer takes in two people in dialogue was how to depict their relationship.
In the feudal period, hierarchies were very distinct and important. It’s often the case that the person with power is standing up and looking down upon the person without the power, and the other person is kneeling towards them. At times that hierarchy gets disrupted, and perhaps the person who was previously kneeling stands up. Or perhaps the two people stand eye to eye, and it’s a way to visually signify the shifting power balances. That to me was very central to how I directed and choreographed these scenes.
And it’s also important that through the use of wide shots and long takes, the gradual shifts in the power dynamic are very visible, and that we as the audience are able to watch and experience that alongside the actors.
In the scene with Chiyoho and Murashige, there’s also the relationship between the characters and the ceremonial alter. That was also a component of where the characters are placed in distance or in relation to the altar. Towards the end, you notice that she also pulls Murashige towards the altar, which is also just another form of their shifting power balance.
JS: This film takes place in a historically violent era and genre, and your own films don’t shy away from violence. Murashige is someone who violence is expected of, but he avoids at all costs, even with a spider on his hand. What was your process for building that kind of restraint in this character, especially one based on a real historical figure?
KK: Yes, the character of Murashige is based on a historical figure, and it is a historical truth that for ten months, there was a siege around his castle. And then at the end of those ten months, he fled alone from the castle, leaving behind his retainers and his family. So he is considered a person who is a weakling, a coward, and a traitor.
But this was partially what interested me in his character. He’s also not someone that had always had this authority within the castle; he’s someone who captured and came to that power and authority himself, likely from very violent means. So it is a central mystery as to why someone who went through such hurdles in order to gain his power would so easily let it go?
And so it must be that during those ten months, he had an experience that led him towards the decision to let go of his power. And what that is, is one of the things that interested me most about this story. Of course, it’s historically a mystery, but there are things that are speculative hints towards an answer within the novel.
But he’s someone who came to power through violent means who then, because he must discard of power, must also discard violence at the same time. I tried to create a character that could stand up to that central drama.
JS: Is there anything you discovered about him as a protagonist that changed your views on violence, compared to other characters with similar dramatic arcs of violence in your previous films?
KK: I suppose it was an opportunity to rethink what the relationship of a protagonist might have to violence. But because this is my newest film, I still haven’t really arrived at what this protagonist means to me, nor do I know if I’ll ever have an opportunity to depict a protagonist with similar motivations.
But in this film, because it’s set in the Sengoku (Warring States) period, this was a time where many different people were using violence and killing people in order to capture power or authority. Killing was something that was ordinary and everyday. And I suppose that I’m attracted to this character because he chooses nonviolence in that kind of environment.
In my drama films depicting Tokyo in the present day, there’s no visible war, or war that’s visible to us. There’s also not very much violence that we experience in our day to day. However, that doesn’t mean that there is no violence and there is no war. It’s just hidden away.
I think that the present-day films that I have depicted so far involve protagonists that are discovering the violence that is lurking beneath. So I think violence exists at all times, it’s just whether it’s apparent or whether it’s discreet. In that sense, I think that I learned a little bit more about what a protagonist can be, because [Murashige] is kind of the opposite of the type of protagonist that I have typically depicted.
The Samurai and the Prisoner is now playing in theaters courtesy of Janus Films, and opens in additional cities this Friday.
