Several years ago, it was boldly stated that every work of American cinema from the last sixty years can be traced to John Ford’s masterpiece The Searchers in some way or another, which sounds reductive until we realize just how influential that film was, and how its spectre still lingers heavily over a lot of contemporary filmmaking. A similar sentiment comes in the form of discussions centring around Akira Kurosawa, unquestionably one of the most influential filmmakers of his (or any) generation, and someone whose work remains revolutionary. The reason to discuss these two concepts in tandem is not arbitrary, since there is an argument that it is actually Kurosawa who made the most impact on the development of the Western genre, doing so almost simultaneously with Ford – and the only reason this isn’t a more widely-acknowledged point of discussion is because of the form his films took. The master of the samurai genre that was incredibly popular in his native Japan at the same time as his rise as a director, Kurosawa made films that were incredible works of art and which would soon be appropriated into American films, often without permission. Seven Samurai become The Magnificent Seven, Rashomon has been adapted in countless different forms, and the topic of today’s discussion is the other major action film that was eventually appropriated by other filmmakers, the incredible Yojimbo, which tells the story of a nameless samurai venturing forward into a small village, where he becomes ingrained in the feud between two warring factions, becoming the catalyst for a series of increasingly violent encounters between the groups, his mysterious past standing him in good stead as an unconventional leader of the side to which he aligns. Inspiring not only Sergio Leone’s Dollars Trilogy, but essentially every Western film made from that point onwards (including other spaghetti westerns like Django, and a range of revisionist westerns produced in the United States after the decline of the golden age of the genre in the 1960s), it is difficult to not view Yojimbo as an incredible artistic achievement, the kind that cannot exist in isolation, and instead stands at the helm of an entire cinematic movement that drew inspiration from this film and its ingenious creator over the years, the impact of this film still being felt to the present moment.

A quality of Kurosawa’s work that is not always widely discussed, but which is certainly one of the most appealing traits of his directorial output, is the cultural component. Fiercely proud of his Japanese heritage (as were many of his peers – it is difficult to find a national cinema composed of more fervent supporters of their country’s legacy), the director often would voyage into the past to explore different periods in Japanese history, providing thorough and meaningful accounts of these particular moments that feel extremely meaningful and genuinely very captivating. Handcrafted by someone whose interest in the past is one of his defining traits, Yojimbo is set at the tail-end of the Edo Period, which ended roughly towards the middle of the 19th century, which was already an era in the country’s past that is rich with vibrant cultural detail, especially since it was a period where many changes were being made to the social and political structure, particularly in terms of the feudal system that has been deeply ingrained in the country’s existence. Even if we just focus on looking at Yojimbo as a cultural document, or even just as a chance for Kurosawa to plumb the emotional depths of his country’s history, it is an incredible piece of storytelling, with the intricate weaving together of different ideas forming an invigorating, compelling drama that provides a thorough account into the day-to-day existence of a small village and its occupants, particularly in their efforts to fend off the encroaching influence of negative forces that seek to unsettle their usually tranquil existence. Logically, we can’t merely focus on these ideas, since many more components go into the creation of Yojimbo, but considering the amount of work that the director put into adding nuances in places where they weren’t entirely necessary, but rather exist as a means to craft a more detailed portrait of the period setting, its worth at least remarking on this as one of the foundational strengths of this incredibly captivating and well-crafted film.

Over time, Kurosawa has amassed a reputation for being a director of undeniable importance, a figure whose work is always subjected to extreme scrutiny, since absolutely every viewer wants to contribute to the broader conversation about his work by provoking some profound piece of philosophical insight that we glean from his remarkable stories. Yet, something that can come as quite a surprise is that his films may be layered in meaning, but they are far from defined by it, instead, they often function as rapidly-paced, wildly entertaining films that are as enjoyable as they are thought-provoking, not being nearly as didactic or dense as we would assume. Certainly, some of his films are more reliant on the underlying concepts than others, but in the case of Yojimbo, this is a purely entertaining endeavour. a voyage into the past that is as exciting as it is daring. Despite the historical context that surrounds the film, we discover that Yojimbo is actually an oddly lighthearted affair in many moments – it’s not a particularly complex story and the narrative structure is one that emphasizes the underlying simplicity long before it layers on the more distinct socio-cultural meaning. Kurosawa’s great gift as a storyteller was his ability to immerse us completely in the worlds he constructed, and this film in particular is one of the most stellar, undeniably entertaining examples of this in practice. The film moves at a rapid pace, and the blend of a brilliant concept with the historical background makes for a film that is simultaneously engaging and well-balanced between the different components that make up this spectacular action epic that has proven to be able to stand the test of time better than a lot of other films produced during this period. Oddly enough, Yojimbo is not a film that ever takes itself all that seriously, and instead operates at a much more compelling level, exploring the past through this wickedly entertaining, vaguely eccentric examination of history and its sometimes grisly past, from which Kurosawa crafts such an endearing and unique work of art.

Kurosawa’s body of work is defined by several different factors, and one of the most recognizable traits of his films is the frequent collaborations with Toshiro Mifune, who was undeniably the director’s muse, both men being indelibly etched into film history through their numerous collaborations. Mifune was not the star of every one of the director’s films, but the times in which they did work together (which was relatively frequent), the results were nothing short of spellbinding and incredibly exciting. Both were artists that brought out the very best in each other and while Yojimbo is neither Kurosawa’s strongest outside as a director nor Mifune’s greatest performance, they both deliver solid, well-defined work that is entirely analogous with their artistic visions as well as being genuinely very compelling. They bring out certain qualities that we have not witnessed from an actor-director pairing since, and their collaborations almost feel like two artists engaged in a metaphorical waltz, working together in close proximity to create something remarkable. Every moment Mifune is on screen in Yojimbo is incredible – he possessed a magnetism that we have rarely glimpsed from any other actor, and his rugged charisma was truly unprecedented, making it quite clear precisely why he became arguably Japan’s greatest actor or at least the most recognisable figure from its long cinematic history. He’s supported by a terrific cast, with Tatsuya Nakadai (who would also go on to become one of the director’s regular collaborators) having a scene-stealing supporting part that often feels like the inverse of Mifune’s character, making us wish there was more focus on the dynamic between the two actors, especially since there has always been the sentiment that Mifune eventually passed the torch to Nakadai as Japan’s premiere film star and cinematic icon. Considering the scope of the film and what it intended to explore, it is slightly surprising to discover that Yojimbo contains some genuinely incredible performances, since this genre doesn’t necessarily lend itself to prioritizing the actors, but they are equally as responsible for the incredible detail that we find throughout this fascinating film.

As we have already established, Yojimbo has an exceptional storyline that is brimming with beautiful cultural and historical detail, and it was superbly brought to life by the cast, who turn a relatively straightforward narrative into a complex character study that touches on themes of greed, social structure and masculinity in a way that is genuinely very compelling. Yet, the thread that ties everything together obviously comes in how Kurosawa crafts the film around these elements since a strong story and an excellent cast need a strong sense of direction to fully make an impression, which this film does without any difficulty. There is a reason why Kurosawa is considered one of the greatest visual stylists to ever work in the medium, with his approach to direction being absolutely extraordinary. Everything from the compositions of each scene to the score that oscillates between atmospheric and explosive is carefully curated to evoke a very specific kind of sensation, establishing a clear mood that tells us exactly what this film was aiming to achieve. Yojimbo places equal emphasis on the story as it does the execution, which is why it as narratively strong as it is visually striking – every shot is stunning (which is a credit to both Kurosawa and director of photography Kazuo Miyagawa, who was behind many of the filmmaker’s greatest works), and which is perfectly complimented by the efforts of those responsible for recreating Japan during the Edo Period, the costuming and production design being impeccable and genuinely quite beautiful. Kurosawa was a director who always strove for accuracy as far as possible, and while Yojimbo may be focused on a more heightened sense of reality, there is a sense of historical and cultural authenticity that is present at both the conceptual and practical levels. Every small detail is perfectly highlighted, down to each intricate movement in the well-choreographed fight scenes that form the foundation of this film, quite simply one of Kurosawa’s most well-directed endeavours.

From a completely objective perspective, it is hardly surprising that Yojimbo would become such a sensation, being viewed as one of Kurosawa’s signature films. It’s not considered his masterpiece by very many people, especially since it is one of the slightly less-complex offerings, but it is nonetheless an incredible film and one that is not at all shocking to imagine could have been an inspiration to many future filmmakers. As influential as it is daring, the film is driven by the desire to explore fascinating themes in the context of a historical drama – there’s something about taking very common concepts and asserting them onto a bygone era that only tends to enrich and amplify, which is something that Kurosawa and many of his disciples (both official and unofficial) have used to their benefit when crafting these elegant, complex character-driven dramas that merge the past and present in an increasingly fascinating manner. Well-directed to the point where it is impossible to see even the vaguest outline of effort (since Kurosawa’s greatest trait was the fact that he made absolutely everything look seamless), but still genuinely quite profound in terms of both visual and narrative construction, Yojimbo is an exceptional film. Whether it relishing in the vision of Mifune playing one of his most complex and iconic roles, or the sheer spectacle of seeing the director tackle the sometimes intimidating subject of the legacy of the samurai and the role they played in Japan’s history, the film is a beautifully-crafted voyage into the past, one that is tenderly but brilliantly examined by a director who once again proves that his status as one of the most influential filmmakers is not only secure, its an unimpeachable and objective fact.