Akira Kurosawa made "Seven Samurai" because he wanted to make a real "jidai-geki," a real period-film that would present the past as meaningful, while also being an entertaining film. Kurosawa considered "Rashomon," the film rightfully credited with making the West aware of the Japanese cinema, with being neither. But in his attempt to make a truly "realistic" film, Kurosawa redefined the conflict at the heart of Japanese films. Before "Seven Samurai" this conflict was that of love versus duty, where the central character is compelled by fate to sacrifice what he loves in the name of duty. In "Seven Samurai" the focus remains on duty, yet the conflict is now between the real and the pretended. Calling yourself a samurai does not make you one, something proven time and time again in the film, from the test of skill turned deadly between Kyuzo (Seiji Miyaguchi) and the tall samurai to the first appearance of Kikuchiyo (Toshirô Mifune), with his stolen pedigree. Like Katshushiro (Ko Kimura), the youngster who wants to learn from the master, Kambei (Takashi Shimura), the audience is educated as to the true nature of the samurai.
For me this film deals with the heroic, albeit in realistic terms. I have shown the film in World Literature classes, after students have read Homer's "Iliad" and as they begin reading Cervantes' "Don Quixote." Within that context, compared to the brutal arrogance of Achilles and the gentle insanity of Quixote, the heroic qualities of the seven samurai become clear. Their inspiration extends to some of the villagers. Manzo (Kamatari Fujiwara) is crazed with fear over the virtue of his daughter, Shino (Keiko Tsushima), and Rikichi (Yoshio Tsuchiya) fights to avenge the disgrace of his wife and his precipitating the death of Heihachi (Minoru Chiaki), but it is the comic Yohei (Bokuzen Hidari), who finds within himself the ability to fight, a die a tragic death, who is the true barometer for what the samurai mean to the village. But the greatest tragedy is that despite this most noble effort and the bodies buried in honor at the top of the village cemetery, this has been but a temporary union between the villagers and the samurai. When Kambei declares, "We have lost again," he redefines the battles: it was not to kill all the bandits, it was to find a true place in the world. Yet we should have already known this, for the painful truth was driven home when Kyuzo, the master swordsman, is gunned down from behind. No better proof is needed in this film of the bitter truth that the world is not fair.
Mifune is the maniacal spirit of this film, as the faux-samurai Kikuchiyo, the dancing whirlwind whose emotions overwhelm everything including himself. But it is Shimura as Kambei, who embodies the mentor mentality with a minimum of effort, evoking more by rubbing his hand over his shaved head or giving a single piercing look than by any spoken dialogue. Even in a strong ensemble these performances stand out, for clearly different reasons. To fully appreciate Kurosawa's mastery in "Seven Samurai" you need to watch the film several times to better appreciate the way he constructs scenes, using contrasting images, evocative music and varying the length of cuts to affect tempo. For example, look carefully at how the early scene of the farmers searching the streets for samurai and the later sequence where Katsushiro watches Kyuzo and Kikuchiyo waiting for the bandit scouts to return to their horses. Both of these scenes are superb primers to Kurosawa's style.
For years we had to put with the 160-minute version of the film that was made for export, which was actually called "The Magnificent Seven" until John Strugis's Western remake. Fortunately, "Seven Samurai" has been restored to full 208-minute glory, saved from being a lamentable cinematic tragedy on a par with "Greed," "The Magnificent Ambersons," and "Ivan the Terrible." There is a sense in which "Seven Samurai" is truly my favorite film, because it was the one that instilled in me a love of cinema, of the craft and art of movie making, of compelling me to understand intellectually how Kurosawa was skillfully manipulating my emotions. The final battle sequences, fought and filmed in a torrent of rain, exhausting characters and audience alike with its increasingly relentless tempo, is given its potency because of the human elements that have been established in all that has taken place before hand. "Seven Samurai" is a magnificent film against which the vast majority of epics pale in comparison. Not even Kurosawa scaled these heights ever again.