Oportunidades

Director: Kihachi Okamoto

Writers: Shinobu Hashimoto (writer), Kaizan Nakazato (novel) Here’s a portrait of genuine evil. A hard look at a cold, violent man. Sword of Doom has to be one of the most unconventional films I’ve ever seen. The portrayal of the protagonist leaves me to wonder if there’s any goodness (or even sanity) in his head. If you want a model for a bloodthirsty antagonist in your stories, here’s a good place to start.

Once again, this film clearly illustrates a woman’s role in Old Japan. She is nothing without a male figure to support her. After the murder of her brother—uh, husband—Ohama needs Tsukune’s support or she may as well cut off her hair and run to a nunnery. Meanwhile, Omatsu becomes a victim to her cruel husband. The roles women play in these stories are those of victims. Seldom do they ever show any strength, and when they do, it certainly leads to their own downfall.

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I didn’t list the option of the Evil Daimyo until now, in the Narrator Chapter, where you and I can talk about him privately. I’ve even hidden him here in the Adventures section so the players can’t find him easily.

One could make the argument that Ryunosuke Tsukue falls into the category of Mad Daimyo. I disagree. Tsukue is evil. Pure and simple. A man who loves wickedness and revels in making others suffer. This is the cruelest trick to play on your players. Give them the Evil Daimyo.

The Advantage of an Evil Daimyo is that the characters gain Honor when they perform genuinely wicked acts.

The Disadvantage of an Evil Daimyo is just the opposite: characters lose Honor from the Honor Pool when they perform genuinely moral acts.

Rashomon

Director: Akira Kurosawa

Writers: Ryunosuke Akutagawa (stories), Akira Kurosawa, Shinobu Hashimoto

Not actually a samurai picture, but important for you as a Narrator, nonetheless.

For me, Rashomon has always been a meditation on the nature of men. The director, Akira Kurosawa, wanted the film to feel real. He didn’t want to create a “once upon a time” film, but tell a story that felt as authentic as possible. Why? Because the story he was about to tell was about the impossibility of discerning truth from falsehood. A theme we shall be visiting many times in this chapter.

Are men wicked and selfish or can they rise above baseness and achieve a little good in the world? I think this story makes a case for both. Men can thrive on wickedness but they can also do the same with rightness in their hearts.

Pay closer attention to what is not being said than what the suspects tell you. All four stories sound true but only the Woodcutter’s story is free from motive. He was not involved; he has no shame to hide.

The woman herself transforms into four different women: one for each of the tellings. The writing and performance almost give us four different characters who all react to the situation in very different ways. Which is the one that is closest to the actual event? Does it even matter? Men make up their own realities, build their own past with lies and believe what they want to believe… not what they actually saw or did.

The story hammers home all the lies and misery in the world. Lines such as “Dogs have it better in this world!” illustrate how pitiful the lives of commoners actually are. The Priest laments, “I don’t want this place to be Hell!” but his wishes seem to be in vain. It isn’t until the Woodcutter offers to adopt the baby that a single thread of sunshine breaks through.

And it is the Woodcutter who goes through a transformation here. His initial lie comes from the fact that he didn’t want to be involved. He didn’t want trouble. He went into the woods to cut wood and stumbled across all of this. But, in the end, he adopts the child. A stunning observation: to do good in this world, you have to give something up.

To me, watching the medium was one of the most chilling moments in cinema. Something that has haunted me for years after seeing it. The samurai of Old Japan are not capable of such magic— summoning spirits of the dead—but others may be. I’ve tried to make the reality of magic as ambiguous as possible. Such testimony would be damning in Old Japan unless you consider the Commoner’s question: “Why should a dead man tell the truth?”

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For Officers of the Daimyo, dealing with issues like this are almost every day occurrences. Who is telling the truth? Probably none of them. But throw three different testimonies in front of your Officers and have them pick from which is most sincere.

Remember, they are Officers of the Daimyo. They could simply make a quick decision and be done with it. But goodness requires sacrifice. Justice requires consideration. But with four different accounts of the same story—and no evidence to back anything up—the Officers are placed in a situation that has no clean outcome. No justice.

There is no danger here. No danger at all. Just the Officers making a decision. They will never draw their swords, they don’t need bows or arrows, they will not see a single drop of blood. But their decision changes lives for better or worse. They can be selfish and deal out arbitrary decisions or they can take their time—make a sacrifice—and deal with the situation correctly.

But they’ll never know what really happened. Never.