Or, more specifically, “Lone Wolf and Cub: White Heaven in Hell”, but I was concerned about running out of space in the post’s title form field.
But enough with semantics!
Yes, I’m back out of another week-long alcoholic slump (they’re getting more frequent and prolonged, which is of worryingly-mild concern to me), in order to bring you my thoughts on a foreign-language film that I’ve sat down to watch without the aid of an English dub or subtitles. Actually, the UK boxset of Lone Wolf and Cub doesn’t have an English dub, so that was out of the question anyway. As mentioned previously, my reasons for doing this are a) my deteriorating eyesight makes reading subtitles a slow and frustrating process b) I actually find hearing people talk without knowing exactly what they’re saying quite relaxing and c) I’m curious to see, and I use the term “see” very loosely, whether a director can inform their audience through visually storytelling alone.
I’ve been dipping in and out of this particular series for a few years now, and have mostly enjoyed myself. Unfortunately, they’re very much a product of the 1970s, which was the decade that style and taste forgot. Thankfully, it was a decade I only spent four months in, and even then I was safely inside the tummy of someone else (who actually passed away recently). To be brutally honest, the 70s appeared dour as I looked back on it from the 80s, and it still looks dour as of 2024. What on Earth happened?! I’m guessing the carefree hippies of the 60s were too stoned to care about colour schemes long into the 70s, then only remembered to start making the effort again once their heads finally cleared in the 80s and they found themselves inexplicably lumbered with offspring to create a visually-pleasing world for.
Pause for breath!
Anyway, enough sociology… what do I think Lone Wolf and Cub: White Heaven in Hell was all about?!
Well, as with the first five instalments, it appears to follow a disgraced ronin, wandering feudal Japan, with the deposed infant emperor he refused to execute. I think. That’s my general gist. As each instalment progresses, and it seemed to be the way with this final one too, our tubby, sweaty, monosyllabic hero is sneaked upon by a motley crew of sword-wielding assassins, who are only to be slashed, stabbed, mutilated, or gunned down by their would-be victim.
Yup, that’s pretty much it.
White Heaven in Hell seemed to feature a unique mystical element though, with our lead villain, a cross between Snake Plissken and Santa Claus, raising samurai, or perhaps dispatched villains from previous instalments, from the dead.
Right, time to read an online synopsis and find out what really happened…
…hang on…
Oh, no, the kid is actually our hero’s son. Give me a break, it’s been a year, at least, since I’ve even thought about this series. And he was an executioner, not a samurai. And nobody was raised from the dead. Okay, hands up who went red with anger as I got all of it wrong.
Aww, poor baby.
Well, the machinations of the villain now seem rather superfluous, and certainly didn’t affect my enjoyment of what was happening. Overall, thanks mainly to the aforementioned ugly period of their production, these films have been rather uncomfortable to watch. However, this final instalment, along with the first, transcend the times to become real highlights, and probably worth watching solely together (?) as a double bill.
Or “double feature”, I’m not here to translate my nonsense for you.
Mercifully, the makeup artist has finally learned about powdering actors so they don’t glisten so grotesquely, and the filming of exteriors makes you actually want to visit Japan on holiday. The previous films all did to their country of origin what Don’t Look Now did to Venice.
The climactic battle in snowy mountains, which reminded me of a James Bond movie, is simply stunning. We even get a sleigh chase! Japanese assassins sword-fighting on fucking sleighs, dude! Come on! Now that’s entertainment. Even though the law of diminishing returns set in a long time ago, White Heaven in Hell still keeps you concerned for its protagonist. And this is, like, the sixth army he’s faced down, single-handedly, and walked away from with mewling brat in tow.
Sorry, but I’m not giving you a spoiler alert for a fifty year old film.
I’m glad I finally made it to the end, but I’m also sad that it’s all over. It was nice to see father smile and show some affection towards son, at last, rather than the film relying on tragedy to end things, so that’s cheered me up. I’m sure there’s more to be said, but, like the titular Lone Wolf himself, I feel as though brevity, and quick reflexes, are all I need here right now. But, hey, the internet’s a big place, filled with much more complex and comprehensive opinions than my own booze-damaged ramblings can possibly muster.
Go! Learn! Love! Be free! And paint the white snow with the red blood of your enemies!
Actually, no, don’t do that last thing I said.
I believe I’m legally obligated to make that assertion.
Do stay in touch, darlings.
Toodles!
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