Stray Dog at the Dryden Theatre, 8.5.10

Another fine evening at the Dryden, spent viewing an Akira Kurosawa classic, 1949's Stray Dog. The plot is centered around a fairly green cop, Murakami (Toshiro Mifune), whose gun is stolen while riding on an overcrowded bus. Sparing a rundown of the entire plotline, the film utilized several beautiful angles and shots, many of which would feel right at home in a film made tomorrow. Kurosawa particularly favored asymmetrically-framed shots, an aesthetic consistent with traditional Japanese woodblock prints. The interchanging forced perspective close-ups and long-range shots allowed for beautiful, subtle storytelling to unfold, keeping the dialogue at a bare minimum. There was a sense that you were amidst the action, conveniently tucked behind a sheer curtain or thrust against a wall in a narrow alley as the story came to life before your eyes. Another item of note: it seems that posturing and attitude denote superiority of will and/or intelligence (at least in the Kurosawa realm). The characters with the most knowledge or experience were often leaning comfortably against a railing or table, legs folded casually beneath them. Compare Murakami's stiff stance, signaling unfamiliarity and novice status, with Sato's (Takashi Shimura, another wonderful actor) eased slouch and cool attitude.

Though there was a great deal of beauty to behold in Kurosawa's cinematography, in equal measure there was a sense of despair and dismay looming through the streets and homes of postwar Japan, culminating in a moment that will surely linger in my consciousness for the coming days and nights...(after the jump, in case you'd like to remain unspoiled by the plot)


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Murakami has at long last reunited with his Colt, though not without seeing the damage that it had inflicted upon several innocent people. Collapsed from exhaustion and blood loss, he is relieved but far too weary to celebrate. Lying next to him, in handcuffs, is the equally weary Yusa, the culprit. Worn down by a lost war and his own social inadequacies, among other factors, he is particularly sensitive. In the distance, a group of small children marches along the fields, cheerfully singing the praises of the cherry blossoms; it is at this moment, as he notices the blooms hovering above him, recalling the criminal nature that has set forth from his own hands, that his soul completely shatters. He releases a scream so primal and blood-curdling that will stun anyone and everyone in its wake. A devastating, wordless expression of humanity's unbelievable power, used alternately for better and for worse. Stark, pure, undeniably humbling.