Standing at 6 feet tall and having an effortlessly cool demeanour, Yusaku Matsuda stood head and shoulders above his contemporaries in every sense of the term. His baby face masked by the always present sunglasses and a slender physique gave manga and anime artists their template for the next two decades, for he truly was the embodiment of characters like Spike Spiegel (Cowboy Bebop) and Kenshiro (Fist of the North Star)(Editor: Aokiji from One Piece, too). Yusaku Matsuda was too cool to be real, and never was he cooler than in Toru Murakawa’s Game Trilogy.
Toei had found their template by the late 70s. Yakuza films were their meal ticket and they weren’t about to go hungry. However, how many scenarios could you have with rooms full of men demanding revenge or scheming their nefarious plans? Whilst the Game Trilogy would do little to move away from what audiences had come to expect from Toei, it would be different enough for it to be just like it’s lead actor, to stand out in a very crowded room.
Released between 1978 and 1979, each film in the trilogy gives a different look and feel to the assignment. Each follow the exploits of the notorious assassin Shohei Narumi, what starts as quite formulaic soon turns to chaotic carnage as bloody violence is served like hors d’oeuvres at a party.
Starting with The Most Dangerous Game (1978), easily the most violent entry, our protagonist finds himself in the crosshairs of big business, Yakuza and the police as their lies and corruption escalate and threaten to capture Shohei in a web of lies.
What seems, on paper, to be something that anyone with a penchant for Japanese cinema has seen a thousand times before, actually delivers a wider path than that which these films usually take. They don’t reinvent the wheel, but they do give them a lick of paint.
This was quickly followed by The Killing Game (1978), a much more laid-back affair, allowing Yusaku Matsuda the opportunity to show something a little more than just his action chops, allowing us to see a character that lives much more by the seat of his pants than as the calculating professional from before. Although this is what hurts this part the most, the change in pace is a welcome one following the stylised violence on The Most Dangerous Game.
Finally we have The Execution Game (1979), an exercise in style and pathos, this isn’t the happy go lucky, making it up as he goes along Shohei Narumi we have come to love, this is a wounded animal waiting to bite, troubled by his past and wary of strangers.
If there is one real selling point for this collection outside of the chance to see one of the most underappreciated greats of Japanese cinema (who would lose his fight with cancer, shortly after completing work on Ridley Scott’s Black Rain, at the far too young age of 40), then it’s the variety held within. What seems, on paper, to be something that anyone with a penchant for Japanese cinema has seen a thousand times before, actually delivers a wider path than that which these films usually take. They don’t reinvent the wheel, but they do give them a lick of paint.
With a swathe of excellent additional features that we have come to expect from Arrow Video, ranging from commentaries on all three films, to interviews with the director and those that knew Yusaku Matsuda best, this collection is a breath of fresh air in an occasionally stale genre. Well worth a punt for those that like their carnage with a huge slice of cool.
The Game Trilogy is out now on Arrow Video Blu-Ray
