[The following review contains MAJOR SPOILERS; YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!]
Kubi is a film of deliciously compelling contradictions. A period drama with little regard for “historical accuracy,” it reimagines the Sengoku Era as only Takeshi Kitano could: drenched in gore and dripping with homoeroticism. It is simultaneously his most cynical work and his funniest, deconstructing the borderline mythological status attributed to various real-world figures by depicting them not as cunning strategists or Machiavellian masterminds, but rather as mentally unstable psychopaths competing for underserved power.
Kitano himself, for example, leans into his comedic roots by playing Toyotomi Hideyoshi as a bumbling, insecure country bumpkin whose political ambitions are constantly thwarted by his utter lack of finesse when it comes to court intrigue and samurai etiquette; his schemes and machinations depend entirely upon the competence of such unwaveringly loyal subordinates as Kanbei Kuroda (Tadanobu Asano in a role that is essentially the antithesis of his sniveling, amoral character in Shogun)—many of whom he impulsively has assassinated as soon as he perceives their intelligence to be a threat. Ryo Kase, meanwhile, delivers an unapologetically theatrical performance as Oda Nobunaga; a far cry from the brilliant tactician of popular folklore, there is no grand design behind this hedonistic tyrant’s plans of conquest and “unification”—he simply revels in bloodshed, wantonly and remorselessly abusing peasants and fellow nobles alike.
The movie’s depiction of violence is equally subversive. The spectacular battle sequences are chaotic and harrowing, evoking Orson Welles’ Chimes at Midnight (and, consequently, the derivative cinematic epics helmed by Ridley Scott and Mel Gibson); there is no honor or glory in war—just men clumsily flailing about in the mud and filth, their suffering serving no greater purpose. On other occasions, however, the carnage delves into outright absurdist humor. In one scene, for instance, Hideyoshi grows increasingly impatient as he waits for a vanquished foe to commit ritual suicide—an excruciatingly prolonged joke that satirizes the pomp, poetry, and idealism traditionally associated with bushido.
This irreverent attitude towards death culminates in a hilariously brutal, ironic punchline. Following the decidedly gruesome climax, Hideyoshi searches for his chief rival’s corpse amidst a veritable mountain of human remains. Unable to make a successful identification, he lashes out in impotent frustration, inadvertently kicking the correct severed head like a soccer ball—whereupon the screen abruptly and unceremoniously cuts to black. Roll credits.
An appropriately cruel conclusion to such a gleefully grotesque dissection (hell, damn near evisceration) of the typical tropes, clichés, and conventions of the jidaigeki genre.
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