Tokyo Drifter (1966) – Review

Planning a career change can be tough, but it’s even tougher when your previous career was that of a yakuza hitman. With Tokyo Drifter, director Seijun Suzuki tackles this fun topic with a vibrant explosion of style and chaos, in a cinematic fever dream that eschews conventional narrative in favour of visual panache.

The plot centres on Tetsuya “Phoenix” Hondo (Tetsuya Watari), a former yakuza hitman trying to leave his violent past behind. This will goes as well as expected. The film opens with a stark, desolate landscape, where Tetsuya is being pursued by rival gang members, and while narrowly escaping we later learn that Tetsuya has decided to retire from his criminal life out of loyalty to his boss, Kurata (Ryuji Kita), who is also trying to go straight. Kurata’s gang is disbanding, hoping to legitimize their operations and leave behind the world of crime.

This goes as well as expected.

Needless to say, this decision does not sit well with rival gangs who see this as an opportunity to eliminate Kurata and his men. But as any good noir protagonist knows, escaping the clutches of your former life is easier said than done. The primary antagonist, Otsuka (Eimei Esumi), is the head of a rival gang, and he wants to take over Kurata’s territory and is particularly interested in acquiring Kurata’s office building. When Kurata refuses to sell, Otsuka plots to force him out of the picture. Tetsuya, who remains fiercely loyal to Kurata, becomes a target as well. Along the way, Tetsuya runs into Kenji “Shooting Star” Aizawa (Hideaki Nitani), a former Otsuka man who defected from the group and attempts to lure Tetsuya back into a life of violence.

“Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.”

Despite his best efforts to live a peaceful life, Tetsuya is pulled back into the underworld. He is constantly pursued by hitmen hired by Otsuka, including Tatsuzo the Viper (Tamio Kawaji), and is forced to fight back in order to survive. Tetsuya’s internal struggle is palpable—he longs to leave his criminal past behind, but circumstances compel him to revert to his deadly skills. The theme song “Tokyo Drifter,” sung by Tetsuya, underscores his status as a man who can never truly settle down, forever drifting through life Tetsuya finds himself relentlessly pursued by rivals and former allies alike, forcing him to drift through a surreal, ever-shifting Tokyo landscape.

Nightclubs continue to be very dangerous working environments.

Unfortunately, realizing that Tetsuya’s presence is a liability, Kurata betrays him to save his own skin, agreeing to hand Tetsuya over to Otsuka. Betrayed by his mentor and hunted by both the Otsuka gang and his former allies, Tetsuya becomes a drifter, wandering through Tokyo and the surrounding areas. He is pursued by Otsuka’s men, leading to a series of violent confrontations. Tetsuya’s journey takes him through a variety of strikingly designed settings, from a desolate train station to a modernist nightclub. Each location is infused with a sense of surrealism, reflecting Tetsuya’s disconnection from the world around him.

“I hope an old-fashioned Western brawl doesn’t break out in there.”

In the final moments of the film, Tetsuya, now a true drifter, walks away into the distance, having severed his ties to both the yakuza and the people he once called friends, even leaving behind his girlfriend, Club Alulu singer Chiharu (Chieko Matsubara), and with his future uncertain he remains a man without a home, forever drifting, caught between the desire for a peaceful life and the violence that defines him. Tokyo Drifter closes with the haunting image of Tetsuya alone, embodying the film’s central theme of alienation and the impossibility of escaping one’s past. The vibrant, surreal visuals and the recurring theme song reinforce the sense that Tetsuya’s journey is as much a psychological odyssey as it is a physical one.

If you are a killer with a moral code, you’re allowed to wear white.

Stray Observations:

• Beating up a former yakuza enforcer to find out if we will fight back is something that will most likely come back to bite you in the ass.
• The film’s wonderful visual style was inspired by the 1971 anime Rupan Sensei, both feature characters in coloured suits, have a very comical and playful undertone, and have a general emphasis on entertainment over logic.
• You have to respect a professional killer who has his own theme song, and that Tetsuya sings it himself is even more impressive.
• The high stylization of the cinematography greatly influenced the work of Quentin Tarantino, and his films Kill Bill and Pulp Fiction owe a lot to Seijun Suzuki.

When style is the substance.

The film is a feast for the eyes, with Suzuki using bold, exaggerated colours and striking compositions to create a world that feels both grounded in reality and completely detached from it. Every scene is meticulously crafted, whether it’s a gunfight in a blindingly white snowfield or a nightmarish nightclub showdown bathed in neon lights. The film’s style is so overwhelming that it often feels like the story is secondary to the visuals. This isn’t a complaint, though—Suzuki’s style is the story. This is a unique cinema experience as every frame is meticulously composed, blending pop art sensibilities with traditional Japanese aesthetics. This is not a Tokyo of bustling streets and crowded markets, but a dreamlike cityscape where danger lurks in every corner and the line between friend and foe is blurred.

A world where even morally questionable friends can help in the end.

The film’s narrative is intentionally disjointed, reflecting Tetsuya’s fractured psyche as he navigates his treacherous world and Yasunori Kawauchi’s screenplay consists of sparse dialogue, often cryptic, leaving much to interpretation. This can be disorienting for those expecting a straightforward gangster flick, but for those willing to embrace the chaos, it’s a thrilling ride. Suzuki plays with genre conventions, infusing the film with a surreal, almost operatic quality that elevates it above the standard yakuza fare of the time.

We get both gun battles and sword fights, what’s not to love?

The characters in Tokyo Drifter are equally stylized, especially Tetsuya, who embodies the cool, detached anti-hero archetype. Dressed in his iconic powder blue suit, Tetsuya drifts through the film with an almost Zen-like calm, even as the world around him descends into chaos. He also really knows how to rock a powder blue suit. Watari’s performance is perfectly in tune with Suzuki’s direction, offering a protagonist who is as much a part of the film’s aesthetic as the set designs and colour schemes.

You have to respect a nicely stylized gun battle.

In conclusion, Tokyo Drifter isn’t for everyone. Its fragmented narrative, surreal visuals, and stylized violence can be alienating. But for those who appreciate cinema that challenges conventions and embraces the avant-garde, it’s a masterpiece. Suzuki’s film is a kaleidoscopic journey through the underworld of Tokyo, where honour and betrayal collide in a blaze of colour and sound. It’s a film that stays with you, lingering in the mind long after the credits roll, much like the haunting refrain of Tetsuya’s theme song.