Daimajin/Review

From The Grindhouse Cinema Database

< Daimajin
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The first entry in a trilogy that was recently released as part of a special edition collection by Arrow Video, Kimiyoshi Yasuda's Daimajin is an intriguingly offbeat entry in the subgenre of Japanese giant monster movies. A rare kaiju film set in the sword and samurai era of feudal Japan, it perhaps makes sense that it was produced by Daiei, the studio behind both the Gamera franchise and Akira Kurosawa’s period classic Rashomon. More directly pertinent to the film and its story, however, is the legend of the Golem of Prague (with the 1936 Czech film, Le Golem, specifically suggested by Daiei staffer Akinari Suzuki as the initial inspiration). A humanoid figure formed out of clay and brought to life by Kabbalistic magic to protect the city’s Jews from persecution, the parallels with Daimajin’s story of a wrathful demon possessing a stone idol and punishing those who spread strife are obvious, if given a distinctly Japanese spin.

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In contrast to many movies of the genre, the human story isn’t mere set-up for the monster action. Detailing the oppression and enslavement of the provincial people of Tanba by the cruel daimyo Odate Samonosuke (Ryutaro Gomi), this narrative is given enough time to breathe and develop so that Daimajin’s rampage feels like the only logical conclusion rather than a diversionary spectacle. Also indicative of the careful consideration for the material is the unexpectedly serious way that it’s handled, with Yasuda’s decidedly straight direction inviting viewers to believe the logic underlying the story. This leads to equally straight performances by the cast, particularly with Otome Tsukimiya as the priestess Shinobu. Preserver of the traditions meant to pacify Daimajin as well as protector of the children of Samonosuke’s slain predecessor, Tsukimiya imbues Shinobu with a bravery and conviction that render her doomed defiance to the wicked lord admirable, if not heroic.

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This emphasis on the movie’s human element also has the side effect of heightening the impact of the violence we see onscreen. While even the more kid-friendly entries in the Godzilla series had their fair share of fighting and bloodshed between human characters, the kind seen here hits in a stark way that the science fantasy films of Toho rarely did. Clean, simple shots of bodies hanging from posts provide a clear glimpse of the terror visited upon the villagers, while a recurring technique of cutting away or obscuring the moment a blow lands adds a suggestive punch to it before we actually see the resulting wound or fatality. One might even argue that some of the film’s more heated conversations are violent, such as Shinobu’s final confrontation with Samonosuke. Frequently alternating between close-ups of the devious daimyo and the demon’s priestess, the intense framing and cutting convey the simmering tension beneath their words as well as their potential to boil over into physical conflict at any moment.

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But the human characters, of course, aren’t the only ones to get in on the violent action. Despite appearing for only a quarter (if that) of the film’s runtime, Daimajin is able to the make the most of the 20 minutes or so that he’s onscreen. With the feudal setting requiring a considerably smaller scale than the skyscraper-smashing antics of the Godzilla and Gamera films, the filmmakers use a combination of suitmation and a life-size model to bring the stone giant to life. Several composite shots of people screaming and fleeing from Daimajin are less than convincing even by the standards of tokusatsu movies, but the model fares surprisingly well when sharing scenes with the human cast and actor Chikara Hashimoto is suitably threatening as the enchanted statue. Maintaining an angry glare throughout his screen time and moving with the slow, deliberate motions you’d expect of such a creature (the power of which is punctuated by the heavy, thudding stomp that accompanies his footsteps), it’s something of a guilty pleasure to see this vengeful god unleashed on Samonosuke and his henchmen: indeed, as unpleasant as his death is, it’s also a satisfyingly-karmic warning that even the worst tyrants may one day have their own cross to bear, so to speak.

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Scored by Japan’s preeminent monster movie maestro Akira Ifukube, it’s impossible to not hear inspiration — if not outright lifting — from the composer’s work for the Toho science fiction cycle. A brooding brass passage first heard in the opening theme sounds suspiciously similar to one heard in the previous year’s Frankenstein Conquers The World, while more melancholy cues call to mind the great sadness that Ifukube so masterfully evoked in his score for Gojira. Yet these callbacks are used to such effect that they serve the movie rather than hinder it, being arranged in a manner that helps the overarching atmosphere of sorrow and menace ring true. The original musical material also complements the onscreen action well, with the most notable example being the ritualistic dance performed by the villagers. Meant to keep the dormant Daimajin at bay, the piece’s forceful drums, chittering woodblock, and frantic pacing really capture the urgent nature of the ritual.

A dark, downbeat fantasy that is soberly told, Daimajin’s palpable violence and unexpected emotional resonance make it as severe as its stone-faced anti-hero but also an unconventionally exceptional kaiju offering.

Review by Reggie Peralta

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