Branded to Kill (1967) – Review

Seijun Suzuki’s Branded to Kill is not your typical gangster film, nor is it your typical anything. This 1967 film is not just a crime thriller – though it does feature the yakuza and a variety of hitmen – it’s more a fever dream where the boundaries between reality and fantasy blur, creating a cinematic experience that is as disorienting as it is fascinating. So let us take a look at a movie that defies categorization.

The film opens by introducing Goro Hanada (Jô Shishido), a professional assassin with a peculiar obsession: the smell of boiling rice. Hanada is known for his cool, detached demeanour and his precision in carrying out hits. He is married to Mami (Mariko Ogawa), a sultry and manipulative woman who plays a crucial role in his life and work but is also having an affair with yakuza boss Michihiko Yabuhara (Isao Tamagawa), which is as dangerous as it sounds. It is quickly established that Hanada’s status as the third-ranked hitman in Japan is revered and feared within the criminal underworld, but despite this prestige, he clearly wants to be number one. The first job we see him on involves escorting a client from Sagami Beach to Nagano and dispatching numerous killers along the way, proving he is quite good at his job.

“I’ve always hated escort missions.”

Unfortunately, things go off the rails. Hanada is hired by an unnamed client to carry out a series of assassinations, and while these assignments go smoothly until the final hit, where he is tasked with killing a foreign target, the mission goes awry when a butterfly lands on the barrel of his gun just as he is about to take the shot. This split-second distraction causes him to miss his target, a failure that marks the beginning of his downfall. This botched hit puts him in a precarious position. In the world of contract killers, failure is not an option, and Hanada soon finds himself the target of his own profession. The client who hired him is furious, and a contract is placed on Hanada’s life. This turn of events plunges him into a world of paranoia and danger, where he must constantly be on guard against those seeking to kill him. Of course, it’s not only murder and mayhem.

The life of a contract killer has its upsides.

During his downward spiral, Hanada encounters Misako (Annu Mari), a mysterious and morbid woman who becomes a pivotal figure in his life. Misako is a femme fatale with a death wish, seemingly indifferent to life and obsessed with death. She becomes involved with Hanada, and their relationship is marked by a strange blend of eroticism and nihilism. Misako’s ambivalence toward life and her desire to die creates a dangerous dynamic between the two.  The following exchange kind of sums up their relationship.

Misako: “I love you.”
Hanada: “Damn it! Don’t mock me! I could kill you with one shot!”
Misako: “But you won’t until you’ve ravished me.”
Hanada: “Damn it!”

Their relationship is complicated, to say the least.

As Hanada’s life unravels, he is pursued by the top-ranked assassin, Number One (Kôji Nanbara). Number One is a ruthless and enigmatic figure, seemingly invincible and always one step ahead of Hanada. The two engage in a deadly game of cat and mouse, with Hanada trying to survive while Number One methodically closes in on him. The film builds to a tense and surreal climax as Hanada and Number One face off in a final confrontation. The duel between the two hitmen is a psychological and physical battle, with Hanada pushed to the limits of his endurance and sanity. The outcome of their encounter is ambiguous, leaving the audience to question the true nature of Hanada’s fate.

“From Hell’s heart, I shoot at you.”

Stray Observations:

• Goro Hanada is the Japanese underworld’s third-ranked hitman, but I’d like to know how these rankings are achieved. Is there some form of Yelp review system for contract killings?
• Joe Shishido, whose surgically altered chipmunk cheeks are as unforgettable as the film itself, makes for a very odd but compelling hitman.
• Feeling up a woman whose hitman husband is in the next room does not seem all that conducive to a long and happy life.
• Hanada has sex on a metal spiral staircase, which I’d say is almost as dangerous as fending off numerous contract killers. It certainly can’t be all that comfortable.
• One of Hanada’s kills is through an opening in a billboard, which could have been borrowed from the Bond film From Russia with Love (1963).
• Sakura, the second-ranked hitman, is set on fire but still manages to run about 300 yards before Hanada shoots him dead. That’s got to be some kind of distance record.

This could make for a cool Olympic sport.

Branded to Kill is a kaleidoscope of visual experimentation with the director taking the tropes of the yakuza genre and twisting them into something unrecognizable and utterly unique. Visually, this film is a feast for the eyes as Seijun Suzuki and cinematographer Kazue Nagatsuka employ bold, inventive cinematography that includes stark black-and-white contrasts, extreme close-ups, and off-kilter framing. The film’s surreal style is matched by its erratic pacing, which can be disorienting but also exhilarating. It’s as if Suzuki is constantly pulling the rug out from under you, challenging you to keep up with his feverish vision. The editing is frantic, almost hallucinatory, chopping up time and space in a way that feels disorienting and exhilarating all at once.

What is real and what is simply cool filmmaking is for you to judge.

The story itself is a labyrinth of double-crosses, surreal encounters, and existential dread. The narrative itself is almost secondary to the film’s aesthetic and mood. While there is a plot—centring on Hanada’s attempts to survive as he becomes a target himself—it’s often overshadowed by the film’s eccentricities. Scenes shift from tense shootouts to dreamlike sequences with little regard for conventional storytelling. But that’s the point: Branded to Kill is more about the experience than the narrative. That deadly game of cat and mouse that makes up the film’s last act is as baffling as it is brilliant—a fitting end to a film that seems to exist in its own warped dimension.

A Killer Odd Couple.

But beyond the chaos, there’s something deeply cool about Branded to Kill. It’s a film that doesn’t care if you understand it; it just wants you to experience it. The characters are archetypal, almost mythical, with Hanada’s stoic demeanour contrasting sharply with the film’s more outlandish elements. The dialogue is sparse, with long stretches of silence filled only by the sound of footsteps, gunfire, or the incessant whir of a projector reel. The surreal landscape and bizarre characters all spin together to create an absurdist deconstruction of the crime genre that may have you questioning your own sanity.

Don’t ask me what’s up with all the butterflies.

As for our lead actor, Joe Shishido’s performance as Hanada is iconic; his chiselled cheeks and deadpan delivery make him a unique antihero. He’s a man of few words, driven by primal urges and professional pride, yet there’s a vulnerability to him that becomes more apparent as the film progresses. The supporting characters are equally memorable, especially Annu Mari as the enigmatic femme fatale Misako, whose death wish adds layers of intrigue and danger, making the film’s surreal world feel inhabited by equally surreal characters.

A femme fatale with a death wish.

In the end, Branded to Kill is a film that defies easy categorization. It’s a yakuza movie, but also a satire, a surrealist art piece, and a fever dream all rolled into one. The film’s legacy is undeniable. Despite its initial poor reception—leading to Suzuki’s dismissal from Nikkatsu Studios—Branded to Kill has since become a cult classic, influencing filmmakers like Quentin Tarantino and Jim Jarmusch. Its avant-garde approach to genre cinema has earned it a place in the pantheon of must-see films for cinephiles. It’s a movie that won’t appeal to everyone—its unconventional style and fragmented narrative can be challenging—but for those willing to take the plunge, it’s a wild ride that’s impossible to forget.