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Pistol Opera (2001)

November 17, 2003 • Film, Reviews

Country: Japan
Director: Seijun Suzuki
Producer:
Writer: Kazunori Itô
Cast: Makiko Esumi, Sayoko Yamaguchi.
Running Time: 112 Min

Plot: This long-awaited sequel to the 1967 Koroshi no rakuin (Branded to Kill) replaces the redoubtable Jo Shishido as Number 3 with Makiko Esumi, an actress of the same vintage as the original film, seen to good advantage as a very different type in Maboroshi no hikari (1995). As in the original, her character Miyuki Minazuki, nicknamed “Stray Cat”, is a stylish contract killer striving to attain top ranking among her peers in the most natural and conclusive fashion imaginable.

Pistol Opera takes expressive surrealism to a whole new level, and it’s a real event. It’s master filmmaker Seijun Suzuki’s first film in over six years, which would make it an event in and of itself. It’s also, bizarrely, a full-color TV-ratio sequel to Suzuki’s black-and-white cinemascope masterpiece from his Nikkatsu days, Branded to Kill.

Thirty years have gone by since Killer Goro Hanada met his death at the end of Branded to Kill, but he’s back in this movie, playing a minor character, a confidant of the new no. 3 killer, Stray Cat (a fierce, ebullent, and absolutely gorgeous Makiko Esumi). The world has changed significantly since the original movie’s Orwellian twists. The number one killer, Hundred Eyes, bites the bullet in the very first scene, and now the playing field is closer to level for the menagerie of circus freaks that make up the international assassin’s circuit. There is an assassin in a sports wheelchair, a strange bearded white man who is impervious to pain, and a dracula-like, blond-wigged character (cult actor?). Stray Cat comes out the most normal of this bizarre group, and luckily she is strong enough and resourceful enough to best the majority of them. But then a little girl witnesses one of Stray Cat’s killings. Though advised by everyone to kill the girl, Stray Cat can’t seem to bring herself to do it. She instead tries to adopt the girl, but the fierce competition between the killers puts the little girl in harm’s way.

In spite of all this, there is very little story in Pistol Opera. The dialogue hardly pertains to the action, and the scenes are so varied in nature as to seem to be parts of separate movies. The pace runs all over the map, from fast action to kabuki-paced and styled monologues. When watching the movie, you have the opportunity to see what it is like to be insane.

But this is Seijun Suzuki’s film, and the greatness of Suzuki was never narrative continuity, but rather, his ability to arrange startling and imaginative images that unfold level upon level of complexity (or absurdity, depending on Suzuki’s purpose). And Pistol Opera boasts a bold visual sense unique in the world of filmmaking. The camerawork is absolutely stunning, and the color Suzuki works in has never been brighter.

Pistol Opera is ultimately so personal that we never have complete access to it. Our enjoyment depends on our ability to let go of our expectations and open our eyes.

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