‘The Samurai and the Prisoner’ review: Exquisite period drama

Frequently in Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s “The Samurai and the Prisoner,” characters insist that the film’s principal setting, a military compound known as Arioka Castle, is impenetrable. It’s certainly beautiful: Lovingly production-designed by Tetsuo Harada, it’s a feast of rich wood and gorgeous natural light, an earthly paradise nestled in the mountains of Japan in the late 16th century, its strong walls seemingly impervious to invaders.

But the longer we spend time at Arioka, the more that paradise starts resembling a prison. The dangers are mounting outside and distrust simmers within.

Based on Honobu Yonezawa’s 2021 novel and already a smash in Japan, the movie centers on feudal conflicts and the ever-present threat of war. But structurally, “The Samurai and the Prisoner” revolves around a series of mysteries that unfold, one after another, over the course of about a year. Recently turned 71, Kurosawa is renowned for horror classics like 1997’s “Cure” and 2001’s “Pulse.” Yet the writer-director has worked in other genres and his latest finds him trying his hand at a whodunit within the trappings of a historical drama. In the process, he’s made a war film with almost no battle scenes and a character study in which audiences may not know how they feel about the protagonist by the end. “The Samurai and the Prisoner” contains no scares but is suitably haunted.

Masahiro Motoki plays Murashige, a real-life warrior of the era whose clan broke with the hawkish Oda (Bando Shingo), seeking refuge in Arioka Castle. Although surrounded by Oda’s soldiers just beyond Arioka’s walls, Murashige’s men assure him not to worry. But he is visited by Kanbei (Masaki Suda), an envoy from a different clan, who tells him that more and more factions are siding with Oda, spelling certain doom for Murashige. In response, the leader of Arioka orders Kanbei be thrown in the castle’s impeccably dingy dungeon. It’s a stinging insult: By the samurai code, Kanbei should be killed, not imprisoned — Murashige couldn’t have landed a more devastating slap than by letting him live.

Soon, however, someone else ends up dead inside Arioka, prompting Murashige to launch an investigation into the murder. Told in four chapters, each one corresponding to a separate season and a strange happening, “The Samurai and the Prisoner” rarely leaves the castle grounds as Murashige increasingly turns to Kanbei as an unlikely (and not entirely willing) advisor.

Although the film is a somber examination of violence, it can also be dryly funny in its depiction of what Murashige must endure. The less said about each chapter the better, but one involves a comic search for anyone who might own a bow and arrow, while another concerns the unexpected difficulty of figuring out which decapitated head belongs to an enemy. The occasional sword fight notwithstanding, “The Samurai and the Prisoner” is more comfortable with terse dialogue exchanges as war wages offscreen and bizarre crimes lead Arioka’s inhabitants to suspect there might be a traitor in their ranks.

Throughout, Kurosawa emphasizes the castle’s impressive interiors, enhancing the sense that Murashige’s men are trapped, the greatest mystery being when Oda’s forces will finally breach Arioka’s defenses.

Motoki portrays Murashige as curiously recessive — someone who has laid waste to myriad foes and has now lost his taste for bloodshed. That evolving attitude is reflected in his decision to spare Kanbei’s life, although the change of heart worries his troops, who believe he will be perceived as weak in Oda’s eyes. Those closest to Murashige have difficulty reading him: “For the life of me, I cannot see into your heart,” his loyal wife Chiyoho (Yuriko Yoshitaka) confesses early on. In a moment of such great uncertainty, Kanbei becomes the one person Murashige can trust, although his counsel might contain a hidden agenda.

Those who adore Kurosawa’s unsettling earlier films may be thrown off by his new movie’s relatively muted approach. And to be sure, “The Samurai and the Prisoner” can be a bit languid as its stretches to nearly two-and-a-half hours. But the film connects to his oeuvre in its recognition of humanity’s limitations — specifically, our habit of destroying ourselves and others. Its detached, dispassionate approach vaguely recalls the work of another Kurosawa: Akira, who turned 75 shortly before releasing his late-career stunner “Ran.” That 1985 film was suffused with staggering battle scenes, but it shares with “The Samurai and the Prisoner” not just a feudal-Japan setting but also an older man’s dim view of our species’ vain stabs at glory through conquest.

At its thought-provoking finale, “The Samurai and the Prisoner” holds out a sliver of hope for the human race and it’s telling that it coincides with Murashige stepping foot outside the castle, his future as wide open as the sun-draped fields around him.

Frequently in Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s “The Samurai and the Prisoner,” characters insist that the film’s principal setting, a military compound known as Arioka Castle, is impenetrable. It’s certainly beautiful: Lovingly production-designed by Tetsuo Harada, it’s a feast of rich wood and gorgeous natural light, an earthly paradise nestled in the mountains of Japan in the late 16th century, its strong walls seemingly impervious to invaders.

But the longer we spend time at Arioka, the more that paradise starts resembling a prison. The dangers are mounting outside and distrust simmers within.

Based on Honobu Yonezawa’s 2021 novel and already a smash in Japan, the movie centers on feudal conflicts and the ever-present threat of war. But structurally, “The Samurai and the Prisoner” revolves around a series of mysteries that unfold, one after another, over the course of about a year. Recently turned 71, Kurosawa is renowned for horror classics like 1997’s “Cure” and 2001’s “Pulse.” Yet the writer-director has worked in other genres and his latest finds him trying his hand at a whodunit within the trappings of a historical drama. In the process, he’s made a war film with almost no battle scenes and a character study in which audiences may not know how they feel about the protagonist by the end. “The Samurai and the Prisoner” contains no scares but is suitably haunted.

Masahiro Motoki plays Murashige, a real-life warrior of the era whose clan broke with the hawkish Oda (Bando Shingo), seeking refuge in Arioka Castle. Although surrounded by Oda’s soldiers just beyond Arioka’s walls, Murashige’s men assure him not to worry. But he is visited by Kanbei (Masaki Suda), an envoy from a different clan, who tells him that more and more factions are siding with Oda, spelling certain doom for Murashige. In response, the leader of Arioka orders Kanbei be thrown in the castle’s impeccably dingy dungeon. It’s a stinging insult: By the samurai code, Kanbei should be killed, not imprisoned — Murashige couldn’t have landed a more devastating slap than by letting him live.

Soon, however, someone else ends up dead inside Arioka, prompting Murashige to launch an investigation into the murder. Told in four chapters, each one corresponding to a separate season and a strange happening, “The Samurai and the Prisoner” rarely leaves the castle grounds as Murashige increasingly turns to Kanbei as an unlikely (and not entirely willing) advisor.

Although the film is a somber examination of violence, it can also be dryly funny in its depiction of what Murashige must endure. The less said about each chapter the better, but one involves a comic search for anyone who might own a bow and arrow, while another concerns the unexpected difficulty of figuring out which decapitated head belongs to an enemy. The occasional sword fight notwithstanding, “The Samurai and the Prisoner” is more comfortable with terse dialogue exchanges as war wages offscreen and bizarre crimes lead Arioka’s inhabitants to suspect there might be a traitor in their ranks.

Throughout, Kurosawa emphasizes the castle’s impressive interiors, enhancing the sense that Murashige’s men are trapped, the greatest mystery being when Oda’s forces will finally breach Arioka’s defenses.

Motoki portrays Murashige as curiously recessive — someone who has laid waste to myriad foes and has now lost his taste for bloodshed. That evolving attitude is reflected in his decision to spare Kanbei’s life, although the change of heart worries his troops, who believe he will be perceived as weak in Oda’s eyes. Those closest to Murashige have difficulty reading him: “For the life of me, I cannot see into your heart,” his loyal wife Chiyoho (Yuriko Yoshitaka) confesses early on. In a moment of such great uncertainty, Kanbei becomes the one person Murashige can trust, although his counsel might contain a hidden agenda.

Those who adore Kurosawa’s unsettling earlier films may be thrown off by his new movie’s relatively muted approach. And to be sure, “The Samurai and the Prisoner” can be a bit languid as its stretches to nearly two-and-a-half hours. But the film connects to his oeuvre in its recognition of humanity’s limitations — specifically, our habit of destroying ourselves and others. Its detached, dispassionate approach vaguely recalls the work of another Kurosawa: Akira, who turned 75 shortly before releasing his late-career stunner “Ran.” That 1985 film was suffused with staggering battle scenes, but it shares with “The Samurai and the Prisoner” not just a feudal-Japan setting but also an older man’s dim view of our species’ vain stabs at glory through conquest.

At its thought-provoking finale, “The Samurai and the Prisoner” holds out a sliver of hope for the human race and it’s telling that it coincides with Murashige stepping foot outside the castle, his future as wide open as the sun-draped fields around him.

Frequently in Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s “The Samurai and the Prisoner,” characters insist that the film’s principal setting, a military compound known as Arioka Castle, is impenetrable. It’s certainly beautiful: Lovingly production-designed by Tetsuo Harada, it’s a feast of rich wood and gorgeous natural light, an earthly paradise nestled in the mountains of Japan in the late 16th century, its strong walls seemingly impervious to invaders.

But the longer we spend time at Arioka, the more that paradise starts resembling a prison. The dangers are mounting outside and distrust simmers within.

Based on Honobu Yonezawa’s 2021 novel and already a smash in Japan, the movie centers on feudal conflicts and the ever-present threat of war. But structurally, “The Samurai and the Prisoner” revolves around a series of mysteries that unfold, one after another, over the course of about a year. Recently turned 71, Kurosawa is renowned for horror classics like 1997’s “Cure” and 2001’s “Pulse.” Yet the writer-director has worked in other genres and his latest finds him trying his hand at a whodunit within the trappings of a historical drama. In the process, he’s made a war film with almost no battle scenes and a character study in which audiences may not know how they feel about the protagonist by the end. “The Samurai and the Prisoner” contains no scares but is suitably haunted.

Masahiro Motoki plays Murashige, a real-life warrior of the era whose clan broke with the hawkish Oda (Bando Shingo), seeking refuge in Arioka Castle. Although surrounded by Oda’s soldiers just beyond Arioka’s walls, Murashige’s men assure him not to worry. But he is visited by Kanbei (Masaki Suda), an envoy from a different clan, who tells him that more and more factions are siding with Oda, spelling certain doom for Murashige. In response, the leader of Arioka orders Kanbei be thrown in the castle’s impeccably dingy dungeon. It’s a stinging insult: By the samurai code, Kanbei should be killed, not imprisoned — Murashige couldn’t have landed a more devastating slap than by letting him live.

Soon, however, someone else ends up dead inside Arioka, prompting Murashige to launch an investigation into the murder. Told in four chapters, each one corresponding to a separate season and a strange happening, “The Samurai and the Prisoner” rarely leaves the castle grounds as Murashige increasingly turns to Kanbei as an unlikely (and not entirely willing) advisor.

Although the film is a somber examination of violence, it can also be dryly funny in its depiction of what Murashige must endure. The less said about each chapter the better, but one involves a comic search for anyone who might own a bow and arrow, while another concerns the unexpected difficulty of figuring out which decapitated head belongs to an enemy. The occasional sword fight notwithstanding, “The Samurai and the Prisoner” is more comfortable with terse dialogue exchanges as war wages offscreen and bizarre crimes lead Arioka’s inhabitants to suspect there might be a traitor in their ranks.

Throughout, Kurosawa emphasizes the castle’s impressive interiors, enhancing the sense that Murashige’s men are trapped, the greatest mystery being when Oda’s forces will finally breach Arioka’s defenses.

Motoki portrays Murashige as curiously recessive — someone who has laid waste to myriad foes and has now lost his taste for bloodshed. That evolving attitude is reflected in his decision to spare Kanbei’s life, although the change of heart worries his troops, who believe he will be perceived as weak in Oda’s eyes. Those closest to Murashige have difficulty reading him: “For the life of me, I cannot see into your heart,” his loyal wife Chiyoho (Yuriko Yoshitaka) confesses early on. In a moment of such great uncertainty, Kanbei becomes the one person Murashige can trust, although his counsel might contain a hidden agenda.

Those who adore Kurosawa’s unsettling earlier films may be thrown off by his new movie’s relatively muted approach. And to be sure, “The Samurai and the Prisoner” can be a bit languid as its stretches to nearly two-and-a-half hours. But the film connects to his oeuvre in its recognition of humanity’s limitations — specifically, our habit of destroying ourselves and others. Its detached, dispassionate approach vaguely recalls the work of another Kurosawa: Akira, who turned 75 shortly before releasing his late-career stunner “Ran.” That 1985 film was suffused with staggering battle scenes, but it shares with “The Samurai and the Prisoner” not just a feudal-Japan setting but also an older man’s dim view of our species’ vain stabs at glory through conquest.

At its thought-provoking finale, “The Samurai and the Prisoner” holds out a sliver of hope for the human race and it’s telling that it coincides with Murashige stepping foot outside the castle, his future as wide open as the sun-draped fields around him.

Frequently in Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s “The Samurai and the Prisoner,” characters insist that the film’s principal setting, a military compound known as Arioka Castle, is impenetrable. It’s certainly beautiful: Lovingly production-designed by Tetsuo Harada, it’s a feast of rich wood and gorgeous natural light, an earthly paradise nestled in the mountains of Japan in the late 16th century, its strong walls seemingly impervious to invaders.

But the longer we spend time at Arioka, the more that paradise starts resembling a prison. The dangers are mounting outside and distrust simmers within.

Based on Honobu Yonezawa’s 2021 novel and already a smash in Japan, the movie centers on feudal conflicts and the ever-present threat of war. But structurally, “The Samurai and the Prisoner” revolves around a series of mysteries that unfold, one after another, over the course of about a year. Recently turned 71, Kurosawa is renowned for horror classics like 1997’s “Cure” and 2001’s “Pulse.” Yet the writer-director has worked in other genres and his latest finds him trying his hand at a whodunit within the trappings of a historical drama. In the process, he’s made a war film with almost no battle scenes and a character study in which audiences may not know how they feel about the protagonist by the end. “The Samurai and the Prisoner” contains no scares but is suitably haunted.

Masahiro Motoki plays Murashige, a real-life warrior of the era whose clan broke with the hawkish Oda (Bando Shingo), seeking refuge in Arioka Castle. Although surrounded by Oda’s soldiers just beyond Arioka’s walls, Murashige’s men assure him not to worry. But he is visited by Kanbei (Masaki Suda), an envoy from a different clan, who tells him that more and more factions are siding with Oda, spelling certain doom for Murashige. In response, the leader of Arioka orders Kanbei be thrown in the castle’s impeccably dingy dungeon. It’s a stinging insult: By the samurai code, Kanbei should be killed, not imprisoned — Murashige couldn’t have landed a more devastating slap than by letting him live.

Soon, however, someone else ends up dead inside Arioka, prompting Murashige to launch an investigation into the murder. Told in four chapters, each one corresponding to a separate season and a strange happening, “The Samurai and the Prisoner” rarely leaves the castle grounds as Murashige increasingly turns to Kanbei as an unlikely (and not entirely willing) advisor.

Although the film is a somber examination of violence, it can also be dryly funny in its depiction of what Murashige must endure. The less said about each chapter the better, but one involves a comic search for anyone who might own a bow and arrow, while another concerns the unexpected difficulty of figuring out which decapitated head belongs to an enemy. The occasional sword fight notwithstanding, “The Samurai and the Prisoner” is more comfortable with terse dialogue exchanges as war wages offscreen and bizarre crimes lead Arioka’s inhabitants to suspect there might be a traitor in their ranks.

Throughout, Kurosawa emphasizes the castle’s impressive interiors, enhancing the sense that Murashige’s men are trapped, the greatest mystery being when Oda’s forces will finally breach Arioka’s defenses.

Motoki portrays Murashige as curiously recessive — someone who has laid waste to myriad foes and has now lost his taste for bloodshed. That evolving attitude is reflected in his decision to spare Kanbei’s life, although the change of heart worries his troops, who believe he will be perceived as weak in Oda’s eyes. Those closest to Murashige have difficulty reading him: “For the life of me, I cannot see into your heart,” his loyal wife Chiyoho (Yuriko Yoshitaka) confesses early on. In a moment of such great uncertainty, Kanbei becomes the one person Murashige can trust, although his counsel might contain a hidden agenda.

Those who adore Kurosawa’s unsettling earlier films may be thrown off by his new movie’s relatively muted approach. And to be sure, “The Samurai and the Prisoner” can be a bit languid as its stretches to nearly two-and-a-half hours. But the film connects to his oeuvre in its recognition of humanity’s limitations — specifically, our habit of destroying ourselves and others. Its detached, dispassionate approach vaguely recalls the work of another Kurosawa: Akira, who turned 75 shortly before releasing his late-career stunner “Ran.” That 1985 film was suffused with staggering battle scenes, but it shares with “The Samurai and the Prisoner” not just a feudal-Japan setting but also an older man’s dim view of our species’ vain stabs at glory through conquest.

At its thought-provoking finale, “The Samurai and the Prisoner” holds out a sliver of hope for the human race and it’s telling that it coincides with Murashige stepping foot outside the castle, his future as wide open as the sun-draped fields around him.