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Guerilla warfare

Initially convincing Police Tactics as the final instalment of the series, all the stops were pulled out in intensifying the gangland war left unfinished by the end of the previous film, one that fully delivers on the Battles Without Honor and Humanity namesake. Instead of a unified assault, the battles of this film are more like guerilla warfare, as one side attacks the other and waits for the inevitable retaliation, drawing the ire of civilians and finally forcing the police to act. Of the sequels, this one is the most similar in tone and execution to the original, it also comes with a considerable amount of dark comedy, something unexpected from the series but certainly welcome. Fukasaku continually mounts his impressive direction, drawing a brittle atmosphere of blood splattering the camera, as the unsteady warmth which had temporarily united them, shatters to slivers as they all get forced to the wilderness. There's a double dosing of chaotic violence in this entry as everything comes to a head, darker, uglier and completely unsympathetic with everyone in a constant state of conflict that seemingly never ends. The cast is once again phenomenal, everyone feels so lived-in and believable, and there are too many standouts to name especially Bunta Sugawara at the centre of it all. Powered by the deep grooves of another fantastic Toshiaki Tsushima score; Proxy War was all about setting up the game, Police Tactics comes in, flips the game board and laughs as all the pieces go flying, rounding off the story in an explosively satisfying manner yet the War for Hiroshima is far from over.

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Hiroshima Death March

The political machinations of the yakuza world provide bloody, non-stop thrills in this deliriously anarchic sequel that is never less than fascinating for its attention to personal details and vivid pictorial exploration of a criminal, country-wide hornet's nest. Deadly Fight in Hiroshima may take a more linear direction than that of its predecessor due to its basis having not been finished at the time of filming, the screenplay by Kazuo Kasahara cleverly weaves an adaptation of real-life gangster Mitsuji Yamagami, whilst continuing to build upon the themes of the first Battle. Fukasaku's direction continues to impress, unveiling an eye for breathing space in the middle of the blood-flowing whirlpool; the action sequences are brutal and unforgiving with the camera work by Sadaji Yoshida, at times, mesmerising, especially in the film's final twenty minutes, where Yamanaka is hunted in the rainy laneways of Hiroshima, those are exceptionally beautiful. Despite Sonny Chiba's impressive performance as the ultra-psychotic Katsutoshi, whose manic, psychotic body language jerking movements are used by Chiba to hold Katsutoshi as a ticking time bomb keeping everyone on edge; Bunta Sugawara's weighty presence, despite taking a back seat in this episode, the film truly belongs to Kinya Kitaoji and, the lone voice of feminine voice within the first two films, Meiko Kaji. Their chemistry is fantastic; you get a real feel for these two forbidden lovers' plight, a testament to Fukasaku's handling of the romance, which is deft and touching without becoming cloying. Backed by another spidery score from Toshiaki Tsushima (who even includes a playful nod to Seijun Suzuki's Tokyo Drifter), Deadly Fight in Hiroshima might be a more commercial film than it's predecessor, but just as worthwhile, one that's magnificently vicious and brutally exhilarating.

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Self destruction

The epitome of humanity's self-destructive nature in its raw, chaotic form all delivered via Kinji Fukasaku's ultraviolent, handheld stylistic blitzkrieg. The title says it all. There's a true sense of lawlessness at the heart of Battles Without Honor and Humanity, one that applies the electric shock treatment to lobotomise any romantic notions of gangsterdom. A dog-eat-dog world of violent, craven thugs and corrupt law enforcers, here the traditional codes of humanity and group loyalty on which Japan's postwar foundations were built are revealed to be a sham. There's some truly superb acting here from everyone involved, although Bunta Sugawara is a clear scene-stealer, a diverse cast of characters who offer a different perspective with their own viewpoints. Fukasaku demonstrates his great skill as a director, and his technique perfectly fits the movie's tone. Using a fast-paced, erratic, nearly chaotic style the action scenes offer us that taste of brutality we wouldn't have felt had the film been directed more traditionally. Fukasaku strays from the established formula of people getting killed fast and easy with one or two bullets instead he shows us an alternative to that: a slow, painful exercise, one that more accurately portrays the yakuza's violent lifestyle. Yet there are no large body counts, the battles are often predetermined with one side attacking an individual or small group from the other, by surprise and in overwhelming force. There really is no honour in the Japanese underworld. Bright, brash, violent and bloody terrific it's hard not to see how Battles Without Honor and Humanity triumphs, a brilliantly, violent tale about the dark and unforgiving nature of the Japanese crime syndicate that once it starts, never stops.

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A melancholic goodbye to the dreams of youth

A melancholic goodbye to the dreams of youth, Kids Return is easily one of Takeshi Kitano's most personal films, one with a strong empathy for disenfranchised youth while also looking forward to what the future holds. At the story's core, we have the theme of friendship and life choice, represented by the path and decisions of the main characters but still retrains of all Kitano's trademarks and stylings from the affectionately stupid pranks of the leads to the recurring appearance of a twin comedy group, who banter in the style Kitano's own "Two Beats" double act, but it's organized, more confident. He knows what he wants to say, and how he wants to say it. Having grown up in poverty, Kitano likely felt some kinship with his prankster punk anti-heroes but refreshingly refuses to sugar-coat their more disreputable behaviour. They are surly and disrespectful with bad attitudes and a streak of believable, if unfortunate, cruelty. Yet Shinji and Masaru suffer their share of beatings and misfortune as boxing proves no more salvation for the former than the yakuza life suits the latter. The dual messages that there are no shortcuts to success and a lack of diligence can undo the most promising young dreams might seem conservative but the film is more complex than that. Takeshi places his protagonists in a world manipulated by embittered old men whose mixed messages and bad advice leave them uncertain about what is right and wrong. These are not triumphant stories but the film still ends on a frail yet persuasively hopeful note. After his near-fatal motorcycle accident, there was supposedly doubt as to whether Takeshi Kitano would ever work again, with his usual outstanding direction, sumptuous photography and yet another incredible score by Joe Hisaishi, Kids Return crushes pretty much crushes all doubts in one fell swoop.

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Fukuda does Fukasaku

Cut from the same cloth as the likes of Spielberg's Duel, 3,000 Kilometer Trap / Shadows of the Highway sprang from the golden age of Japanese automotive films, one that offers up a surprisingly sombre and low-key chase thriller across the Japanese landscape. It's directed exceptionally well by the usually ridiculous Jun Fukuda. There are few images quite as breathtaking as the black-striped, bright orange GTO floating over blankets of white. However, it does feel like Toho desired him to capture the same aesthetics and style you'd see in a Kinji Fukasaku thriller rather than his usual madcap direction. The acting all around is solid and the pacing is exceptionally nippy, breezing with the roar of an engine accompanied by a brilliant cheesy cool jazz score by Norio Maeda serving as the perfect companion for an epic cross-Japan road trip. Despite a couple of questionable sex scenes and having next to no internet presence, it is very worthwhile to seek out Shadows of the Highway, it's tense, moody and exhilarating in the way only the best car chases can be.

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Assured, poetic and a gently unassuming cinematic masterpiece

Takeshi Kitano is one of the few directors who can bring me to tears in seemingly every manner possible, A Scene at the Sea is no exception. A beautifully realised tale of an outsider who almost unwittingly finds himself embraced by a community he seems virtually indifferent to in his single-minded determination to master a new and chance-discovered obsession. Tethered to only the slightest narrative, the film evokes the experience of early love and disappointment in a manner both sharp and tender. Kitano has managed to excel himself by retaining all the interesting and original traits of his more graphic films, yet managing to tell a story that is just as deep and provocative, only to a more subtle degree. With much of the film playing with no dialogue at all, it's down to the body language and facial expressions of the performers, the shot choice and the editing skills of the director to tell the story, you only need to have seen one of Kitano's other directorial works to know that this is a long way from a tall order. The camera work is extremely sedate and enveloping, managing to capture the beautiful tranquillity of the ocean. The characters do not speak, yet the story never seems to drag at all, with each scene drawing the viewer steadily into this very attractive and insular world that they inhabit. And then there's Joe Hisaishi's music... A haunting mixture of marimba, synthesisers, piano & strings, it augments the atmospheric stillness and compliments the mood of the film perfectly. A hugely important film in Kitano's development as a filmmaker, one in which he discarded his dramatic safety net to tell a small story in a resolutely minimalist fashion and scored a bold, quietly brilliant bulls-eye. There's no violence, precious little dialogue and the tone and pacing vary little throughout, yet the hold exerted by the characters and storytelling is considerable, one that speaks in confident whispers instead of shouting its qualities in the manner of more attention-grabbing early works from any number of younger filmmakers the world over. A Scene at the Sea remains to this day one of his most assured, poetic and yet gently unassuming cinematic achievements, one that can be genuinely moving but never slips for a moment into sentimentality. I love it.

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Full on Ninja Mania

Pitting the lethal arts of Chinese Kung Fu and Japanese ninjitsu against each other in a battle for supremacy, Ninja in the Dragon's Den seemingly has everything you'd ever want out of a martial arts film and the kitchen sink thrown in for good measure, be it ridiculous stilt fighting, ninjas galore, demonic possession, the hero fighting the latter half of the movie in a pink outfit and female anatomy saving the day, this is undoubtedly a classic; a mixture of typical Jackie Chan-style comedy and hard-hitting ninja action, but unusually the two styles mix very well and the film, as a result, is great fun. This Hong Kong / Japanese co-production came about due to the explosion of ninja-mania in the early 80s, one that showcases the contrasting styles of its two cultures in plenty of no-holds-barred and hilarious action. For being Corey Yuen's directorial debut, he pretty much knocked it out of the park on his first go, despite the conventional storyline he manages to give the material a slightly unusual twist, a credit to his years as an action choreographer, offering up highly entertaining set pieces with an endearing vein of slapstick humour. Young Conan Lee and Hiroyuki Sanada are particularly well-rounded here, although Sanada eclipses Lee for most of the runtime, the film does a great job of exhibiting their respective skills. Playing as an offbeat tribute and parody of its own Ninjaspolitation sub-genre, it's hard not to love Ninja in the Dragon’s Den, an exhilarating action film that fully delivers for every second of its running time, the amazingly repetitive theme song certainly reinforces that.

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Full rebellion mode

Resident bad boy Seijun Suzuki in full rebellion mode, Branded to Kill refuses all direct relations with geography in depicting a career hitman on the verge of losing control, one that's discordant, broken and thoroughly berserk. The film is infamous for Suzuki's firing by Nikkatsu, with Suzuki doubling down on everything they hated his films for after all the restrictions placed upon him, the result is an arresting cocktail of sex, violence and surrealism, the monochrome hues accentuating the perversity of the entire twisted venture; it thrums along to an irresistible hard-bop beat, with effortlessly stylish black and white cinematography and set-pieces straight from a pulp fiction fever dream. Because it's so free of the conventions of other crime thrillers, ignoring all rules of conventional filmmaking and forgoing a traditional three-act structure, the disorienting camera angles and jumps in time are all part of the atmosphere. Suzuki outdid himself with this astonishing blend of yakuza films, film noir and new wave, yes it makes little sense but the strong performances from its cast, especially that of Jō Shishido uplift Branded to Kill to the stuff of legendary status in all its audacious genre-bending and narrative-busting ways.

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As fast and lethal as the banker robbers it depicts

One of Kinji Fukasaku's lighter and more comedic works, Violent Panic: The Big Crash is an unrelenting and fast-paced slice of vehicular mayhem, one that feels right at home in his crime-ridden filmography. It's classic Fukasaku from start to finish, just dropping the Yakuza subgenre that often defined his works. Despite the departure from the said genre and the film being a bit of a mess tonally in the first half, Fukasaku still creates a gripping world of slick, charismatic characters. It's a film filled with brutal, quick-to-the-trigger, cigarette-breathing bank robbers, and Tsunehiko Watase is a star among them. He walks the line between enthralling and too ruthless well as he robs his way through Japan. The characters in the second act are often one-note or clash with the gritty crime world Fukasaku paints, but few diminish from the atmosphere of danger throughout the narrative thanks to Fukasaku's trademark urgent and frantic camerawork being out in full force, from its thrilling bank robberies to its outstanding car chases, he puts the audience square within the chaos. From the mix of funky grooves to slow spaghetti western ballads on the soundtrack, Violent Panic: The Big Crash furthers Fukasau's stylish legacy with one hell of an entertaining ride, as fast and lethal as the banker robbers it depicts.

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Far more than a teenybopper romantic fantasy

One of the most imitated and popular Hong Kong productions of the 90s, A Moment of Romance sees a modern-day Romeo and Juliet-style tale under the veil of contemporary underground Triad warfare, far more than a teenybopper romantic fantasy. In many ways the film is responsible for many a cliché within its industry; a disaffected youth, the good girl romantic interest and a cartoonish villain, however, it's the way these clichés are all assembled within the film that makes it so memorable. "Director" Benny Chan has his way with the clichés and throws in enough slow motion, syrupy Cantopop music video montages and hyperemotional crescendos to tax even the weepiest audience member. The core emotions that the film mines are so innately compelling that they're not lost beneath bombastic montages or sudden flashes of gangland violence. It's often stated this was heavily ghost-directed by Johnnie To and it's not hard to see why, so much of the film carries many of his later stylings. The film works because it is a consciously chosen cinematic style and is used without fear with all available means with the superb cast all delivering perfect performances to compliment. Andy Lau brings righteous anger and hidden tenderness to an exceptional genre character. What's so compelling about the character and the performance is that Wah Dee acts and very rarely talks. His decisions have believable and compelling consequences with the affirmation of Dee's morality coming with a price, and only one outcome is truly possible. Put simply, A Moment of Romance has it all; fiery action, sweeping cinematography, an unforgettable love story and beautiful chemistry, quick-witted humour, a beautiful score and more. The film triumphs, not despite its genre excess, but perhaps because of it.

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As entertaining as they come

You know your film is off to a strong start when you aren't even 5 minutes in and it's already staging its own lightsaber fights, albeit with fluorescent bulbs. Marking the end of Sammo Hung's greatest period as both star and director with a mighty bang, Pedicab Driver exemplifies the type of cinema that Hong Kong loved during the 80s. What that means is it's a mismatched series of bizarre comedy, heightened emotions, sudden tragedy and yes, incredible fight scenes. The extended fight between Sammo and Lau Kar-Leung in the gambling den stands as one of the film's most memorable moments, despite its complete irrelevance to the plot. Although it seems a little overambitious at times in its storytelling, with several seemingly unrelated threads running parallel, the film does manage to hold it all together in a way that only Hong Kong cinema can. While the story threads are certainly only diversions from the main spectacle, they do enhance the film somewhat, thanks largely to the cast's terrific performances and great music. It all starts happy-go-lucky but by the end, revenge is the name of the game and it is one Sammo delivers tenfold with some fantastic direction. For its uneven mishmash of genres and tones, Pedicab Driver succeeds wholeheartedly thanks to its easily empathetic and loveable characters and their plights, it's as entertaining as they come and features something for everyone. While not quite a masterpiece it is well worth seeing.

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Heroes never die, they live forever

Just as much a tribute to the heroic bloodshed films of yesteryear as it is a brilliantly stylised entry in its own right, A Hero Never Dies is a pure exercise in genre film despite being so hard-boiled that it almost becomes a comedy. Taking a fundamentally tried, tested and clichéd story in a world where the violence is more sudden and the atmosphere much darker and upending nearly every element of the films he's paying homage to, shows the power of Johnnie To's filmmaking ability. To's direction is fantastic with plenty of sweeping camera movements and tremendous use of colour, all coupled with Cheng Siu-keung's outstanding photography make the film a feast for the eyes. The incredible sense of loyalty and honour these characters display ultimately makes them “heroes", the themes are often hammered home so relentlessly that the film nearly enters the realm of parody. Only in a gangland fantasy would characters enjoy a friendship but have no qualms about killing one another later. The performances from its central cast are phenomenal, Leon Lai and Sean Lau especially, both playing fundamentally different archetypes of the same profession to immense effect, all the while Raymond Wong's hauntingly powerful score dominates the sound mix, even if he does repeat a few too many cues from his work on Running Out of Time. A Hero Never Dies ultimately just solidifies to me that Johnnie To is one of, if not the best post-handover filmmaker in the industry. Heroes may die, but their actions live forever.

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Brilliant fun

A bizarre concoction of comedy, martial arts, and spaghetti western action, The Stranger and The Gunfighter is hard to fault in terms of sheer entertainment value, one that works because, unlike other Shaw Brothers collaborations, ergo Legend of the 7 Golden Vampires, it doesn't take itself too seriously. Most of the comedy is daft, but there are a few inspired jokes littered throughout, even with the rather repetitive script the film never wastes too much time in one spot, leading the two heroes from one fantastic set piece to another with an admirable pace. The film makes the best of the opposition between the polite, dutiful Easterner and the selfish, roguish Westerner, but without making any serious socio-cultural statements. It helps enormously that both Lo Lieh and Lee Van Cleef are the leads, Cleef is especially funny in the film which makes a nice change from his roles as the villains and stoic characters in his earlier spaghetti westerns while Lieh is just as awesome as he always is. Antonio Margheriti's direction is pretty great but the unfortunate grotty transfers this film has been confined to do his work a major injustice at points as his photography of the Almeria locations gives the film a paramount look which works exceptionally well with Carlo Savina's fun score. A well-balanced mix of exploitation comedy, The Stranger and The Gunfighter is well worth a look for aficionados of either genre.

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A cautionary parable for man's true acquiescence to the natural world

Toshiharu Ikeda's elemental and mythical adaptation of Takashi Ishii's Angel Guts manga, Mermaid Legend, evokes a lyrical sadness for the fading way of life of seafaring fishermen and ama divers. One that starts as a relatively tender study of grief but shifts dramatically in the latter half to become an absolutely brutal exploitation blood-drenched angel of vengeance and yet, despite those exploitation tendencies, it also channels the intense anti-nuclear sentiment of the decade. An eco-thriller that finds the incursive grasp of industrialisation and corporate greed encroaching on natural realms. Ikeda directs a film that begins a presentation lingering somewhere between the realistic and the idyllic, almost artful in several scenes but it's not long before the film shows its true colours, which are essentially bathed in the red of blood. Mari Shirato gives an astonishing performance as Migiwa, managing to capture everything from sorrowful and vulnerable as much as vengeful and unstoppable, a real shame she wasn't in more. Combined with a truly haunting piano score by Toshiyuki Honda, Mermaid Legend remains a brooding requiem for loss, a cautionary parable for man's true acquiescence to the natural world.

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A beautiful paradox

At the heart of the incredibly titled Beach of the War Gods is a beautiful paradox, one built upon love and shame, it's wuxia mayhem by way of Kurosawa and Leone all filtered through the eyes of Jimmy Wang Yu. Whilst hand-to-hand combat had started to become the name of the game following the dawn of the 1970s, this film sees Wang Yu take a decisive step back from what he was more well-known for, to make a film in the genre that had previously dominated, the wuxia. Granted, it does look a little rougher around the edges than many of its contemporaries, but its ambition and scope are to be marvelled at. Wang Yu makes fabulous use of the wide frame with some brilliantly composed and thoroughly beautiful shots sprinkled throughout. It's enriched with depth, movement and a constant visual interest to keep you engrossed with wind machines regularly blasting away, waves crashing dramatically and fire adding powerful amounts of colour. And this is all before I mention the film's awe-inspiring and action-packed finale that brings 25 minutes of uninterrupted magnificence to the forefront. Yes, the characters and plot are exceptionally flimsy and the dialogue is superficial at best; yet the stripped-back approach works in Beach of the War Gods' favour, never intruding upon its gloriously bloody action and rushing towards its lengthy, epic final battle without any fat getting in the way.

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