Released to widespread critical and audience acclaim back in 1992, Clint Eastwood's Oscar-winning revenge tale Unforgiven is fondly remembered as a valiant last stand by an American movie genre that had been slowly dying a death for decades. The West, as it transpired, had been well and truly won, despite several sporadic attempts to spur the old horse back into life (see Open Range, the Coen brothers' True Grit and, most recently, Quentin Tarantino's revisionist Django Unchained). Now, 22 years on from Eastwood's original offering, director Lee Sang-il presents Yurusarezaru mono (2013), a loose remake transposed to nineteenth century feudal Japan, with cowboys replaced by samurai.
There's good, bad and, indeed, ugly to be found in Sang-il's meticulously realised period piece. First, the positives. Proficiently shot by Norimichi Kasamatsu (who worked on the director's previous film, 2010's Villain), the snowy vistas of rural Japan are more than a match for the vast expanses of the Old West. It's against this arresting canvas that Kamata's tale of redemption plays out, with the welcome addition of a subplot involving the ethnic cleansing of the Ainu people. Their figurehead in Unforgiven is Sanosuke (Yukiyoshi Ozawa, doing his best face-scratching Toshiro Mifune impersonation), a harlequin-style character who gradually reveals a past blighted by tragedy and hardship. It's the tumultuous relationship between these two men of contrasting backgrounds that serves as the emotional core of Sang-il's drama, as does the daily torment of the disfigured prostitute Kamata has been charged with avenging.
And yet, taking place at a time of immense social and cultural upheaval, the influence of the West can be seen in more than just the elegant suits worn by Kôichi Satô's morally corrupt lawman (a similar role to the one so brilliantly fulfilled by Gene Hackman in the Eastwood film). Part-produced by Unforgiven stable Warner Bros, Sang-il's remake often feels like it's been made for international audiences above its own home market; a global product rather than a national one. Further evidence for this comes courtesy of the film's jarring score, which veers wildly from Kurosawa-aping percussion to recognisably westernised melodies. Perhaps most crucially of all, Watanabe - though comfortable in the lead role - never really improves (or even differs) on Eastwood's preceding turn. Much like Sang-il's attempt as a whole, his performance is more pallid imitation than bold Bushido revision.