(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters. If you’re the kind of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“In 1870, a gang robs a train and steals a ceremonial Japanese sword meant as a gift for the U.S. President, prompting a manhunt to retrieve it.”
The chief problem with any genre film as that once you’ve seen a good number of them then you come to realize that so many efforts are little more than ‘variations on a theme.’
In other words, what has long been said about storytelling – that there are basically only seven different types of them – is even doubly true because within any certain genre there are likely only three or four or five formulaic approaches to them. If one formula proved exceeding popular with audiences, then those viewers are likely to be forced do endure dozens if not hundreds of combinations of the same formula where the only thing that differs is a central thematic variable. For example, Die Hard (1988) was such a critical and commercial success that over the next several years the cineplexes were flooded with narrative variations. 1992’s Under Siege was dubbed “Die Hard on a boat.” 1992’s Passenger 57 became “Die Hard on a plane.” 1994’s Speed was christened “Die Hard on a bus.” While a great many bits and pieces of these films were basically interchangeable, they all adhered to the same basic blueprint, thus ensuring a reasonable good time was had by all.
For a time, Westerns avoided such trappings largely by reinventing themselves (to a small degree) in the late 1960’s and early 1970’s to focus more on anti-heroes instead of the white-hat wearing sheriffs, marshals, and other do-gooders. This granted storytellers the opportunity to explore what many saw as darker thematic territory – the kind wherein such polar principes of Good and Bad weren’t so easily distinguished – but the boon never quite lasted as long as it could because screenwriters again found themselves going back to what had worked before but only tweaking the concepts by muddying the waters as they washed over things like justice, injustice, and whatever comes in between. While some in the audiences found this fresh, the truth is they were mostly given something they’d paid good money to see before lacquered over with the current cultural sensitivities to give it a slightly different patina.
For as good as Red Sun (1971) is – and it is very good – I’d argue that fundamentally it isn’t all that different from, say, Seven Samurai (1954) or The Magnificent Seven (1960) – a film that produced a handful of like-minded sequels – even though the screenplay from Denne Bart Petitclerc, William Roberts, and Lawrence Roman invests a bit more time in expanding on a character’s background. Essentially, a pair of mismatched warriors – professional scoundrel Link Stuart (played by Charles Bronson) and aging samurai Kuroda Jubei (Toshirō Mifune) – inherit the task of recovering a stolen royal sword in a loosely-established race against time. Terence Young directs what feels mostly like a buddy cop film set in the Wild West (another film formula shamelessly pilfered!), and he successfully keeps the action moving brisk enough that what few quibbles could surface just can’t quite find strong enough traction in the brief, fleeting sequences of downtime.
Having seen more than my fair share of Westerns, I can assure you that a great deal of what’s chucked in here has definitely been seen before. That’s not a complaint because the truth is there are traits required to make any genre film part of the wider genre, and Young along with his cast and crew both understood the assignment and delivered something that fits well within the parameters. As I suggested above, Red Sun also feels very much like it was intended to be the next iteration of Seven Samurai’s construct, that being a story needing an assembly of heroes to accomplish the script’s big need. Bronson’s Link is, clearly, not a 100% bad guy – he squarely lands in bona fide anti-hero country – but the script does raise its stakes in the final reel when he and Kuroda have to temper their expectations and join up with Gauche (Alain Delon) – the thief they’ve been pursuing the entire film – in order to face down an even greater threat likely to destroy them all.
So again it isn’t hard to see why Red Sun very much fits the bill for being a feature production that varies an element or two in order to give the completed adventure a flavor somewhat all of its own. On that level, it’s very solid with Bronson doing what he’d done for so very long in Westerns while leaving plenty of room for discussions of duty, honor, and service from a decidedly samurai perspective with Kuroda filling in those blanks. Interestingly enough, the samurai lifestyle was very quickly passing into history in the period in which Red Sun takes place; and this reality – the sanctioned dispenser of state-sponsored morality being usurped by societal advancements – gives the film a stronger resonance than most in the audiences will likely appreciate. “Once a cop, always a cop” rings quite differently when the cops of a certain era – i.e. samurais – are simply being replaced by new social modes. What are these trained men of honor supposed to do now? Simply vanish into the ether?
Stylistically, Red Sun truly delivers its underlying message in the manner with which Young outfitted his big three characters.
Though he’s undeniably positioned as the main hero/anti-hero, Link never looks ‘cleaned up’ even after he’s managed to take a bath in the local swimming hole. He often appears a bit disheveled with his clothing, dressed in wrinkled Earth tones that long ago saw their better days for wear and tear. His hat, his boots, and his slacks remain functional but are almost strategically blemished with dust and soot; and his mildly tattered jacket hints at something he very well may’ve taken off some trapper, hoodlum, or Native American Indian after filling them full of lead for whatever misdeed they performed (or tried to perform) on him. Far from looking like the professional gunfighter, his look is far more ‘casual Friday’ though Human Resources would still likely be offended by his messiness.
In contrast, Kuroda – for the most part – manages to keep his travelling samurai attire mostly dirt-free. This gets lessened as the tale stretches on, what with their various tumbles, but he still keeps an air of respectability about his ceremonial appearance. There’s a pride and obvious care taken in the way he handles himself and things attached in any way to his person; and though he never comes off with any manner of stuffiness it’s very clear that he’s a soldier (of a type) married to a moral code, one that includes both how he looks and what care he takes in a public personae. In this regard, Kuroda and Link couldn’t be further apart.
Remarkably, Young doesn’t let the subtext stop there. Gauche – a thief and gunfighter – dresses as though he’s the ultimate refined gentleman of the Old West. His shirts look creased. His jacket and vest always look freshly pressed even when he’s in the midst of carrying out some singular act of evil. His suit is black as night; and, on his gun hand, he wears a skin-tight black glove with the trigger finger removed so that he can press his skin up to the gun metal at any time in almost some act of macabre intimacy. In the days of yore, somehow dust and dirt miraculously refuses to cling to this man and anything he wears, making the statement that there’s nothing even in nature itself to weigh the fellow down.
The fact that Young keeps these costume motifs going across Red Sun’s nearly two-hour running time means that this was a deliberate artistic choice. In an era wherein the clothes didn’t so much ‘fit the man’ as they were functional, this trio established themselves not only in what they did but also how they looked. It’s a genius choice that pays off all the way down to the film’s closing moments; and perhaps it was this one little thing that elevated the flick from being so routine to being so special.
Red Sun (1971) was produced by Les Films Corona, Oceania Produzioni Internazionali Cinematografiche, and Lightning International. DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at Arrow Films. As for the technical specifications? While I’m no trained video expert, I can still assure readers that Red Sun looks and sounds mostly fabulous throughout: there was one sequence wherein the dialogue was a bit muddled, but I suspect that’s a weakness of the source material as opposed to any upgrade performed here. Lastly, if you’re looking for special features? There’s a nice and chatty commentary track here – not a great deal of film-specific information – along with some newly-produced interview segments that make this one a great collection, especially for Western enthusiasts who haven’t seen the film but are thinking of a blind buy.
Strongly Recommended.
Now, I’m going to admit right up front that – as a young’un – Bronson was always one of my favorite Western stars; but I’d never had the good fortune of seeing this internationally-produced effort, a reality I’m glad I’ve rectified. Red Sun (1971) is more than a bit derivative in structure and set-up, but there’s a great camaraderie between Bronson and Mifune here that gives this one a bit of extra life. Beyond everything else, director Young proves categorically that clothes make the man; so viewers are encouraged to notice how so much of their behaviors truly match the respective characterizations. A wonderful discovery of a somewhat forgotten Western … what more could one ask for?
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Arrow Films provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray copy of Red Sun (1971) by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“In 1870, a gang robs a train and steals a ceremonial Japanese sword meant as a gift for the U.S. President, prompting a manhunt to retrieve it.”
The chief problem with any genre film as that once you’ve seen a good number of them then you come to realize that so many efforts are little more than ‘variations on a theme.’
In other words, what has long been said about storytelling – that there are basically only seven different types of them – is even doubly true because within any certain genre there are likely only three or four or five formulaic approaches to them. If one formula proved exceeding popular with audiences, then those viewers are likely to be forced do endure dozens if not hundreds of combinations of the same formula where the only thing that differs is a central thematic variable. For example, Die Hard (1988) was such a critical and commercial success that over the next several years the cineplexes were flooded with narrative variations. 1992’s Under Siege was dubbed “Die Hard on a boat.” 1992’s Passenger 57 became “Die Hard on a plane.” 1994’s Speed was christened “Die Hard on a bus.” While a great many bits and pieces of these films were basically interchangeable, they all adhered to the same basic blueprint, thus ensuring a reasonable good time was had by all.
For a time, Westerns avoided such trappings largely by reinventing themselves (to a small degree) in the late 1960’s and early 1970’s to focus more on anti-heroes instead of the white-hat wearing sheriffs, marshals, and other do-gooders. This granted storytellers the opportunity to explore what many saw as darker thematic territory – the kind wherein such polar principes of Good and Bad weren’t so easily distinguished – but the boon never quite lasted as long as it could because screenwriters again found themselves going back to what had worked before but only tweaking the concepts by muddying the waters as they washed over things like justice, injustice, and whatever comes in between. While some in the audiences found this fresh, the truth is they were mostly given something they’d paid good money to see before lacquered over with the current cultural sensitivities to give it a slightly different patina.
For as good as Red Sun (1971) is – and it is very good – I’d argue that fundamentally it isn’t all that different from, say, Seven Samurai (1954) or The Magnificent Seven (1960) – a film that produced a handful of like-minded sequels – even though the screenplay from Denne Bart Petitclerc, William Roberts, and Lawrence Roman invests a bit more time in expanding on a character’s background. Essentially, a pair of mismatched warriors – professional scoundrel Link Stuart (played by Charles Bronson) and aging samurai Kuroda Jubei (Toshirō Mifune) – inherit the task of recovering a stolen royal sword in a loosely-established race against time. Terence Young directs what feels mostly like a buddy cop film set in the Wild West (another film formula shamelessly pilfered!), and he successfully keeps the action moving brisk enough that what few quibbles could surface just can’t quite find strong enough traction in the brief, fleeting sequences of downtime.
Having seen more than my fair share of Westerns, I can assure you that a great deal of what’s chucked in here has definitely been seen before. That’s not a complaint because the truth is there are traits required to make any genre film part of the wider genre, and Young along with his cast and crew both understood the assignment and delivered something that fits well within the parameters. As I suggested above, Red Sun also feels very much like it was intended to be the next iteration of Seven Samurai’s construct, that being a story needing an assembly of heroes to accomplish the script’s big need. Bronson’s Link is, clearly, not a 100% bad guy – he squarely lands in bona fide anti-hero country – but the script does raise its stakes in the final reel when he and Kuroda have to temper their expectations and join up with Gauche (Alain Delon) – the thief they’ve been pursuing the entire film – in order to face down an even greater threat likely to destroy them all.
So again it isn’t hard to see why Red Sun very much fits the bill for being a feature production that varies an element or two in order to give the completed adventure a flavor somewhat all of its own. On that level, it’s very solid with Bronson doing what he’d done for so very long in Westerns while leaving plenty of room for discussions of duty, honor, and service from a decidedly samurai perspective with Kuroda filling in those blanks. Interestingly enough, the samurai lifestyle was very quickly passing into history in the period in which Red Sun takes place; and this reality – the sanctioned dispenser of state-sponsored morality being usurped by societal advancements – gives the film a stronger resonance than most in the audiences will likely appreciate. “Once a cop, always a cop” rings quite differently when the cops of a certain era – i.e. samurais – are simply being replaced by new social modes. What are these trained men of honor supposed to do now? Simply vanish into the ether?
Stylistically, Red Sun truly delivers its underlying message in the manner with which Young outfitted his big three characters.
Though he’s undeniably positioned as the main hero/anti-hero, Link never looks ‘cleaned up’ even after he’s managed to take a bath in the local swimming hole. He often appears a bit disheveled with his clothing, dressed in wrinkled Earth tones that long ago saw their better days for wear and tear. His hat, his boots, and his slacks remain functional but are almost strategically blemished with dust and soot; and his mildly tattered jacket hints at something he very well may’ve taken off some trapper, hoodlum, or Native American Indian after filling them full of lead for whatever misdeed they performed (or tried to perform) on him. Far from looking like the professional gunfighter, his look is far more ‘casual Friday’ though Human Resources would still likely be offended by his messiness.
In contrast, Kuroda – for the most part – manages to keep his travelling samurai attire mostly dirt-free. This gets lessened as the tale stretches on, what with their various tumbles, but he still keeps an air of respectability about his ceremonial appearance. There’s a pride and obvious care taken in the way he handles himself and things attached in any way to his person; and though he never comes off with any manner of stuffiness it’s very clear that he’s a soldier (of a type) married to a moral code, one that includes both how he looks and what care he takes in a public personae. In this regard, Kuroda and Link couldn’t be further apart.
Remarkably, Young doesn’t let the subtext stop there. Gauche – a thief and gunfighter – dresses as though he’s the ultimate refined gentleman of the Old West. His shirts look creased. His jacket and vest always look freshly pressed even when he’s in the midst of carrying out some singular act of evil. His suit is black as night; and, on his gun hand, he wears a skin-tight black glove with the trigger finger removed so that he can press his skin up to the gun metal at any time in almost some act of macabre intimacy. In the days of yore, somehow dust and dirt miraculously refuses to cling to this man and anything he wears, making the statement that there’s nothing even in nature itself to weigh the fellow down.
The fact that Young keeps these costume motifs going across Red Sun’s nearly two-hour running time means that this was a deliberate artistic choice. In an era wherein the clothes didn’t so much ‘fit the man’ as they were functional, this trio established themselves not only in what they did but also how they looked. It’s a genius choice that pays off all the way down to the film’s closing moments; and perhaps it was this one little thing that elevated the flick from being so routine to being so special.
Red Sun (1971) was produced by Les Films Corona, Oceania Produzioni Internazionali Cinematografiche, and Lightning International. DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at Arrow Films. As for the technical specifications? While I’m no trained video expert, I can still assure readers that Red Sun looks and sounds mostly fabulous throughout: there was one sequence wherein the dialogue was a bit muddled, but I suspect that’s a weakness of the source material as opposed to any upgrade performed here. Lastly, if you’re looking for special features? There’s a nice and chatty commentary track here – not a great deal of film-specific information – along with some newly-produced interview segments that make this one a great collection, especially for Western enthusiasts who haven’t seen the film but are thinking of a blind buy.
Strongly Recommended.
Now, I’m going to admit right up front that – as a young’un – Bronson was always one of my favorite Western stars; but I’d never had the good fortune of seeing this internationally-produced effort, a reality I’m glad I’ve rectified. Red Sun (1971) is more than a bit derivative in structure and set-up, but there’s a great camaraderie between Bronson and Mifune here that gives this one a bit of extra life. Beyond everything else, director Young proves categorically that clothes make the man; so viewers are encouraged to notice how so much of their behaviors truly match the respective characterizations. A wonderful discovery of a somewhat forgotten Western … what more could one ask for?
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Arrow Films provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray copy of Red Sun (1971) by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
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