1948’s Drunken
Angel marked the first time that Japanese director Akira Kurosawa directed
masterful actor Toshiro Mifune, but the results are excellent enough that you
can see why their collaborations continued for decades. Even though Dr. Sanada
(Takashi Shimura) is the film’s main character, it’s the slimy, impulsive Matsunaga (Mifune) that
makes the most powerful impression.As
Drunken Angel opens, Mifune’s young
thug stumbles into the doctor’s office late one night with an injured hand
that he claims he hurt by slamming it in a door. Of course, when the doctor
pulls a bullet out of that hand, Matsunaga’s story changes a bit and a
squabble erupts, but not before Dr. Sanada diagnoses him with a potentially
terminal case of tuberculosis. Matsunaga is warned that if he doesn’t slow
down his rambunctious lifestyle, he’ll surely die. The film examines the
relationship between this altruistic, but self-indulgent, practitioner and his
Yakuza patient and as a result ends up damning much of postwar Japanese culture.
The first shot in Drunken
Angel is a close-up of a grimy pond of water that sits in the middle of the
section of Tokyo where the film takes place. Kurosawa uses this puddle to
reflect the degradation of the society that surrounds it. The doctor warns the
villagers to stay away from the water, since the town is plagued with typhus,
but everyone seems content to carry on in their destructive behavior. What makes
the doctor a compelling character is that he doesn’t exactly practice what he
preaches. There are reasons that he lives in the slums, and they have as much to
do with his desire to help the underserved populace as his own tendency to
overindulge his vices. Still, instead of presenting him as an unsympathetic
character Kurosawa contrasts him with his rather pompous and affluent colleague
who talks about how silly pedestrians look while riding about in his chauffeured
vehicle. To a degree, Kurosawa suggests a life spent trying to ignore large
chunks of the populace is a lie. Perhaps, this is why he always pauses to
observe them in his movies. Sanada’s flaws make him a more well-rounded
character, and make the world that the film takes place in more convincing.
Kurosawa seems to be telling us here that he was unable to find a spotless moral
center among these people, and just about everything that appears pure in the
film comes with its compromises (most of all Matsunaga’s attempts to set
himself on the path to grace). No matter how entertaining he makes drinking and
dancing look, he always is sure to shows its excesses. There’s a stunning
dance-hall number in the American-made “Social Center”, but even this
location is presented as a 24-hour den of sin. Even the prettiest girl in this
filth is likely to have a venereal disease and every moment of pensive beauty is
in danger of succumbing to the muck that surrounds it.
The most damning moments in Drunken Angel happen after a Yakuza ganglord returns to claim his
turf after a three-year stint in prison. In the time he’s spent in jail, his
world has changed completely, but he adapts quickly to those differences and
soon begins making inroads toward his return to power. Down on his luck,
Matsunaga quickly learns that the feudal pretenses of honor that the gangsters
once had might not apply in this new capitalist culture (and forcing one to
question if they were ever really there to begin with). The desire for
self-preservation in the changing post-war era, where resources are scarce,
creates a brutish strain of people. It’s no wonder that most of the decent
people want to escape a city that’s so quick to abuse its own. The way that
Kurosawa films the action when Matsunaga confronts his rival shows that he
doesn’t sympathize much with either of them. They’re pathetic and their
attempts to overtake each other can’t be endorsed with flashy filmmaking since
the victor will only attempt to further repress and intimidate the few decent
people that live in the area. The director puts two plaintive philosophies in
his protagonist’s mouth at the end of the film that sum up many of his
observable attitudes toward his characters. First, he says, “Once a beast,
always a beast. You can never change anyone,” and then later decides, “A
rational approach is the best approach for life.” Both of these clearly
illustrate that Kurosawa is the farthest thing from a sentimentalist, no matter
how much he tries to slap a happy ending on most of his films. Usually, to
close on a positive note, he has to damn the vast majority of humanity, as he
does here.