With 2001’s Ichi the Killer, Takashi Miike one-ups himself and his v-cinema yakuza roots with a bigger budget, his most offensive moments to date and a somewhat more coherent and uniform narrative than usual. Of course, with Miike, that means close to nothing, as the film dives right into copious amounts of blood and gore, scenes of inventively grotesque torture and shocking bits of misogyny-- but it is made quite clear from the semen drenched title card that this is a film consistent in its sheer absurdity and precise in its aim. It is 2 hours of exhausting ultra-violence meant to please the most discerning shock cinema fans and keep the rest of its offended viewers talking about the film for months.
Between its hyperkinetic cutting and slick visuals, Ichi the Killer, based on a manga by Hideo Yamamoto (no relation to Miike’s frequent cinematographer), seems to retain its comic book sensibilities. The film follows Tadanobu Asano’s devilish Kakihara, a masochistic yakuza leader who learns his boss is missing at the start of the pic. He goes on a desperate hunt to find the kidnapper, while angering other gangs and catching wind of rumors regarding a mysterious sadist, Ichi—a sniveling, yet dangerous man-child controlled by a former yakuza boss through manipulated memories of a dark, bullied childhood. Kakihara soon grows obsessed with seeking out this true sadist.
Both Asano and Nao Omori as Ichi give strong performances to keep the story going, as the plot weaves between the two of them—though Ichi’s scenes soon grow tiresome and exhausting, rather than anything emotionally resonant. The film is at its best when it wants to have fun and strings together scene after scene of action, exciting build-ups and ridiculous set pieces. It’s impossible to even come close to caring for the film’s characters, but when Kakihara comes on screen in his ridiculous suit and blows smoke out of the holes he cut in his cheeks, viewers will find these moments to be Miike’s inspired ones.
The rest of the film throws in random and equally ludicrous peripheral characters, masochistic tangents in the downtime and hysterical (and simultaneously appalling) moments of deadpan or tongue-in-cheek humor. Viewers aren’t likely to get anything out of this film, except some amusement from the creativity, perhaps nausea and a personal benchmark for the most audacious film they have ever seen. But really, on some level, that’s what Ichi the Killer has become for Japanese film—a hyped up, much fussed about shocker that’s more important to see for its reputation than perhaps its actual content.
Reviewed by Tarun
