Review: The Burning Sunset

Contrary to what the programmers at BAM would have you believe, Masahiro Shinoda’s The Burning Sunset is better known (in the West, at least) as Killers on Parade—which is honestly the more appropriate title, sacrificing poetic evocativeness for blunt accuracy. The film opens with the eponymous assassins—a ragtag rogues gallery of murderers for hire that includes a moonlighting physician, a jazz-obsessed youth, a grouchy old yakuza with little patience for “new blood,” and a recent college graduate that aspires to unionize “the profession”—playfully reenacting the iconic apple shot from the legend of William Tell. Wielding their respective signature weapons, they take turns knocking the fruit from atop a boy’s head, often with humorously explosive results. Inevitably, one overconfident competitor aims a bit too low, seemingly killing the child. As the group bickers about the mishap, however, the “dead” lad sneakily lifts his head, glances at the camera, and grins mischievously.

This brief prologue elegantly and economically establishes the audaciously absurdist tone that defines the rest of the movie. The minimalistic plot unfolds in a cartoonishly corrupt world populated exclusively by broadly sketched caricatures. “Naturalism,” “subtlety,” and “internal logic” are utterly foreign to the setting; vibrant primary colors, frequent musical interludes, and snappy punchlines take priority over anything as superficial and inconsequential as “narrative consistency”—to the story’s immense benefit! Obviously, this stylistic approach shares much in common with Seijun Suzuki (Tokyo Drifter, Branded to Kill)—especially in conjunction with the unapologetically pulpy subject matter—but Shinoda’s direction actually defies such surface-level comparisons, even considering his own experimental flourishes. Although the editing can certainly be described as borderline anarchic (rapid, abrupt, chaotic), for example, it is seldom disorienting; every cut feels purposeful, maintaining a sense of continuity, geography, and rhythm that keep the audience invested in the conflict (the deliciously suspenseful sequence in which a tense duel between two lady gunslingers is juxtaposed with a raucous cockfight, in particular, springs to mind).

The Burning Sunset is, in short, camp of the highest caliber: a darkly comic live-action Lupin the Third (or Wacky Races) episode that anticipates Quentin Tarantino while simultaneously blowing his entire body of work out of the water (my condolences to Jackie Brown). I wish I had discovered it earlier; it would have totally rewired my brain at age thirteen! Nevertheless, belatedly experiencing its delightful insanity via an imported 35mm print in the company of fellow Japanese cinema enthusiasts was an absolute pleasure.