Welcome back to the world of Japanese gangsters. During our first visit, we learnt who the yakuza were, and when and how films about their exploits came to dominate cinemas in the Land of the Rising Sun. Today, however, we shall examine the people behind the success of ninkyō eiga, see what Toei’s competitors were doing, and trace the fortunes of gangster cinema after audiences began to lose interest in the adventures of honourable yakuza. Let us therefore return to the very heart of Japanese crime.
TIME TO SPILL THE NAMES
A considerable share of the credit for the success of ninkyō eiga must undoubtedly go to Kōji Shundō, who was born in Kobe in 1916. He was conscripted into the army in 1937, but after contracting pneumonia was discharged from military service and employed at a factory working for the armed forces. During the war, he worked in Kansai, where he regularly visited gambling dens controlled by the Goshima-gumi gang; before long, he became a friend of its boss, Fukujirō Ōno.
Shundō himself maintained that he never became a gangster, despite numerous rumours claiming otherwise, but his yakuza connections assisted him in his later career. After the war, he became interested in film production, entering the profession with the help of veteran jidaigeki director Masahiro Makino. He also ran a popular bar in Kyoto with a former geisha and helped his acquaintances from the film industry with various matters.
In 1960, Shundō helped Toei sign megastar Kōji Tsuruta(7) and negotiated the transfer of baseball manager Shigeru Mizuhara from the Yomiuri Giants to the Toei Flyers. The studio repaid him by giving him carte blanche to produce films in 1962. As it turned out, Shundō proved exceptionally well suited to the profession and was responsible for the creation of countless popular ninkyō productions.
Above all, Shundō insisted that greater attention be paid to details capable of increasing the films’ realism and strengthening their atmosphere. One example of his approach is the work that he and director Shigehiro Ozawa undertook while preparing his first ninkyō film. Before shooting began, they visited locations controlled by the yakuza in order to absorb their atmosphere and subsequently reproduce it on screen. Even this was not enough, however, and Shundō asked gangsters for assistance, assembling a group of them as advisers on the production.
Furthermore, Shundō was also responsible for developing the acting career of Noboru Andō, a former gangster whom he cast in numerous roles and who attained cult status in Japanese cinema.(8)
Another of Shundō’s influences upon the market was his decision not to limit a commercially successful idea to a single film, but instead to create entire series continuing a popular production. Thanks to him, such cult series as Tales of Chivalry in Japan (Nihon kyōkakuden, 1964–71; eleven films), Brutal Tales of Chivalry (Shōwa zankyōden, 1965–72; nine films), Abashiri Prison (Abashiri bangaichi, 1965–73; eighteen films), The Gambler (Bakuchiuchi, 1967–72; ten films) and Red Peony Gambler (Hibotan bakuto, 1968–72; eight films) were produced. All of these series achieved considerable box-office success, creating an audience loyal to the studio and thereby allowing it to defeat its competitors financially.
Shundō was also responsible for assembling a group of screenwriters, directors and actors who were to work collectively on successive ideas under his supervision. The peak of their activity came in 1967, when Shundō produced thirty films, fourteen of which featured Kōji Tsuruta and six Ken Takakura.
The studio’s other popular actors included Tomisaburō Wakayama, Tetsurō Tanba, Shin’ichi ‘Sonny’ Chiba, the aforementioned Noboru Andō, Saburō Kitajima, Tatsuo Umemiya, Kyōsuke Machida, Ryō Ikebe and Shingo Yamashiro. Shundō wanted each of them to work as hard as possible, and consequently they appeared in numerous productions, alternating between leading and supporting roles. Giving Takakura an opportunity to establish himself proved particularly successful: he captivated audiences and became an icon of masculinity in contemporary Japanese society.(9)
Shundō not only assembled an impressive roster of popular male screen tough guys, but also found a female star in the form of Junko Fuji. He did not have to look very far, as Fuji was his daughter. Although he initially opposed her entering show business, he reluctantly changed his mind after Masahiro Makino decided to cast her in A Man’s Sake Cup (Yashū yūkyōden: Otoko no sakazuki, 1963).
Not wishing to lose her to the competition, particularly after her performance was received extremely positively, Shundō brought her to Toei, where she initially appeared in films with Takakura. She rapidly became a favourite with fans, however, and consequently emerged as the star of the Red Peony Gambler series, launched in 1968.
As already mentioned, Shundō also gathered an impressive group of directors around him. They would later become important figures not only in gangster cinema, but in genre filmmaking more broadly. In addition to Masahiro Makino, the group included Kiyoshi Saeki, Kōsaku Yamashita, Sadao Nakajima, Junya Satō, Shigehiro Ozawa, Yasuo Furuhata, Norifumi Suzuki and Takashi Harada.
Somewhat apart from this group stood Teruo Ishii, who had come from Shintoho and whose films diverged from contemporary norms. Shundō recognised that Ishii’s more modern approach and use of contemporary settings achieved measurable financial success despite departing from the dominant aesthetic, and therefore refrained from interfering excessively in his work.
Another director worthy of mention was Tai Katō, who had previously specialised in two things: jidaigeki cinema and filming from low angles—so low that he frequently ordered holes to be dug on set so that scenes could be shot from inside them. Thematically, he combined violence with a humanitarian message and left-leaning views. As in Ishii’s case, this approach was not a defining characteristic of ninkyō, and Katō occasionally quarrelled with actors on set,(10) but the fact that his productions were both aesthetically accomplished and financially successful allowed him to continue working at Toei with relatively few difficulties.
With such an excellent team under Shundō’s leadership, ninkyō eiga became one of the pillars of commercial Japanese cinema and, in Toei’s case, the very foundation of its production strategy. Naturally, sooner or later everything must come to an end, and the popularity of ninkyō was no exception. Before that happened, however, it is worth asking:
WHAT WERE THE OTHER STUDIOS DOING?
Nikkatsu, which had already enjoyed success with its mukokuseki productions, had no intention of surrendering and became Toei’s principal competitor. The studio deliberately borrowed ideas and devices from Hollywood films. One result was the popular nine-film Bird of Passage series (Wataridori, 1959–62), starring Akira Kobayashi as a guitar-playing, horse-riding young man who travels through the Japanese wilderness and fights various gangsters.
Another series that helped the studio achieve success was Pistol Rap Sheet (Kenjū buraichō, 1960–61; four films). It was brought to a premature end, however, by Keiichirō Akagi’s tragic death in a go-karting accident in 1961. Jō Shishido appeared in supporting roles in both series and later became one of the studio’s stars in his own right.
As previously mentioned, these productions declined in popularity once Toei launched its ninkyō films. Nikkatsu attempted to catch up with its competitor and in 1963 produced its own entry in the genre, Akinori Matsuo’s The Symbol of a Man (Otoko no monshō). Although it did not achieve success on the same scale as Toei’s films, Nikkatsu managed to mount a challenge to the more popular studio, and The Symbol of a Man received nine sequels, the last of which was produced in 1966.
Nikkatsu’s most famous director from this period was undoubtedly Seijun Suzuki, whom the studio’s executives eventually dismissed for experimenting excessively with form. Suzuki joined Nikkatsu in 1954 and took a position as an assistant director. Two years later, he made his directorial debut with the melodrama Harbour Toast: Victory Is in Our Grasp (Minato no kanpai: Shōri o waga te ni).
For the next several years, Suzuki made B productions in a variety of genres, until Youth of the Beast (Yajū no seishun, 1963) demonstrated his unwillingness to conform to any conventions and marked the beginning of his introduction of surrealist elements into gangster cinema. His desire to move beyond established boundaries ultimately resulted in the famous Branded to Kill (Koroshi no rakuin, 1967), starring Jō Shishido. The director of Nikkatsu deemed the film completely incomprehensible, which led to Suzuki’s dismissal.
Another studio attempting to compete with Toei was Daiei. In 1961, it launched the gangster series Tough Guy (Akumyō, 1961–74; sixteen or seventeen films), starring the cult actor Shintarō Katsu, the younger brother of Toei’s Tomisaburō Wakayama. The series turned both Katsu and Jirō Tamiya into stars. It distinguished itself from the competition through its lighter tone, included numerous comic elements and placed greater emphasis upon action scenes.
Another enormously popular Daiei actor was Raizō Ichikawa. The studio decided to exploit his fame by casting him in the leading role in Kazuo Ikehiro’s Young Boss (Waka oyabun, 1965). Daiei’s judgement proved correct: Ichikawa’s fans, including his many female admirers, flocked to cinemas, encouraging the studio to produce seven sequels. Unfortunately, Ichikawa’s death from cancer in 1969 brought the popular series to an end.
Daiei also attempted to promote an actress capable of competing with Junko Fuji and found one in Kyōko Enami, who played the leading role in the Woman Gambler series (Onna tobakuchi, 1966–71; seventeen films). Enami was unable to challenge Fuji on equal terms, however, while Daiei as a whole could not catch up with its rivals in the field of gangster cinema and had to settle—at least in this category—for third place.
TO HELL WITH HONOUR: TOEI CRUSHES THE COMPETITION AGAIN
If there is one constant in audience tastes, it is their changeability. Occupying the summit of the film industry, Toei was the first to notice that conventional gangster productions were no longer attracting the same degree of interest as they had only recently.
By the end of the 1960s, production chief Shigeru Okada had already begun moving ninkyō eiga into the B position of the studio’s double features, while placing more brutal and heavily eroticised productions in the leading position. From these emerged the cycle now known as pinky violence. It produced many interesting films, but their connection to gangster cinema was generally limited to the presence of yakuza in supporting or even minor roles.
The decision to promote pinky violence did not prove particularly profitable. Admittedly, some of the films achieved respectable financial results, but these remained far removed from the spectacular successes enjoyed by ninkyō eiga only a short time earlier. Attempts to revitalise ninkyō also came to nothing, and when Junko Fuji retired in 1972 to marry the kabuki actor Kikunosuke Onoe, Japanese critics regarded it as the definitive end of gangster cinema’s popularity…
…which proved to be a serious mistake. Toei still had one ace up its sleeve, and his name was Kinji Fukasaku.
Fukasaku was not initially a popular director at the studio, not so much because of his personality as because Shundō did not consider the young filmmaker’s work particularly successful. The giant of ninkyō claimed that Fukasaku ‘made films for himself’ and held little hope for his future.
Everything changed when Street Mobster (Gendai yakuza: Hitokiri Yota) reached cinemas in 1972. Violence, nihilism, aggression, modernity, moral ambivalence and an almost suicidally inclined protagonist: these characteristics represented an entirely new quality in gangster cinema.
Admittedly, Street Mobster ultimately proved too dark and brutal to become a major financial success, but Shundō was converted. Contrary to the opinions of the studio’s other decision-makers, the veteran producer of yakuza films brought Fukasaku to Toei’s Kyoto headquarters and commissioned him to make Battles Without Honor and Humanity (Jingi naki tatakai, 1973).
Shundō had, of course, made the correct decision. Under Fukasaku’s direction, the production became an extraordinary success, rescued the studio—which was already struggling financially—became one of the most famous films in the history of Japanese cinema and almost single-handedly launched a new cycle: jitsuroku eiga.
Battles Without Honor and Humanity is a story about gang wars, with the already increasingly celebrated Bunta Sugawara, returning from Street Mobster, in the leading role. The film is set in post-war Japan, placing it considerably closer to its original audience than the ninkyō productions. Thematically, it also addressed contemporary problems such as corruption and rampant crime, while demonstrating that the honourable gangster was a myth.
Paradoxically, then, Shundō—one of the fathers of the romantic myth promoted by ninkyō eiga—also helped launch the cycle that spectacularly destroyed it.
To create an even stronger impression of realism, Fukasaku filmed everything in a quasi-documentary style inspired by television reportage. Hence the name jitsuroku: ‘true account’. Although the truthfulness of the plots in subsequent films belonging to the cycle varied considerably, Battles Without Honor and Humanity really was based upon actual events. While preparing the screenplay, writer Kazuo Kasahara met gangsters and other people represented in the film, many of whom had histories of bloody conflicts and imprisonment.
The plot was based on a series of newspaper articles describing the life of Kōzō Minō, a yakuza boss who took part in the Kure gang war. Minō initially objected to the production, but after several weeks of discussions granted permission for his life to be adapted for the screen.
The making of Battles Without Honor and Humanity also attracted considerable interest among various gangsters, who arrived on set in large numbers, readily shared their observations, offered advice and appeared in minor roles.
Following the film’s success, Okada ordered Shundō to remove Takakura and Tsuruta from yakuza productions. Shundō objected, arguing that the two actors deserved better treatment, but Okada refused to reverse his decision, prompting Shundō to leave Toei.
A settlement was eventually reached, Shundō returned to the studio, and Takakura and Tsuruta continued appearing in films, but neither ever regained his former popularity as a gangster star. Takakura therefore moved into other genres and began appearing in dramas and comedies. Tsuruta settled for playing oyabun, but was employed very rarely: between 1981 and 1987 he appeared in only three films, and in 1987 his career was ended by his death from lung cancer.
The success of Battles Without Honor and Humanity led the studio to produce four sequels, all directed by Fukasaku. The original five-film series ended in 1974, but Toei still refused to let it die. Following negotiations, the studio persuaded Fukasaku to create three more loosely connected instalments under the title New Battles Without Honor and Humanity.
Fukasaku finally departed from the profitable series in 1976, although the studio continued it for another three years. The success of jitsuroku resulted in numerous productions attempting to follow the path established by Fukasaku, and even the director himself did not avoid returning to the cycle.
Films of this kind were nevertheless criticised by the authorities, primarily because of their negative portrayals of the police. Responding to these objections, Toei created a new cycle of police films, which it named keisatsu rosen, the ‘police line’. Its grand beginning, accompanied by a noisy publicity campaign, was Cops vs Thugs (Kenkei tai soshiki bōryoku, 1975), directed by Fukasaku himself and starring Bunta Sugawara, Tatsuo Umemiya and Hiroki Matsukata.
The film was hardly flattering towards the police, but it succeeded in calming public opinion. Toei never returned to its police cycle, and Cops vs Thugs is now regarded as one of the more interesting jitsuroku productions.
Attempts to keep the cycle at the top of the box office did not proceed particularly well, however, and its initial successes were rapidly followed by a decline in interest in jitsuroku eiga. There were several reasons for this, two of which were particularly significant: the decline in cinema attendance corresponding with the growing number of television sets being purchased, and the rapid increase in the popularity of American cinema.
The sudden loss of interest in domestic productions dealt an enormous blow to the Japanese film industry. Daiei went bankrupt and closed its gates in 1971, Nikkatsu transformed itself into a studio primarily devoted to producing erotic roman porno, while Toei attempted to survive by creating increasingly exaggerated jitsuroku stories that had progressively less to do with realism.
The end of the 1970s and beginning of the 1980s marked the complete end of yakuza eiga’s period of success. The principal audience for gangster cinema—single men—began buying video cassettes instead of visiting cinemas, dealing the final blow to the declining genre.
Only one yakuza eiga production achieved theatrical commercial success during the 1980s. This was Hideo Gōsha’s Yakuza Wives (Gokudō no onnatachi, 1986), a Toei film aimed primarily at female viewers and based on a book containing interviews conducted by Shōko Ieda with the wives and partners of gangsters. Yakuza Wives was sufficiently successful to generate an entire series comprising ten films.
‘Masculine’ productions gradually disappeared into obscurity, however, until Toei announced in 1994 not only that it was ceasing to produce gangster films, but that unless its new production—Sadao Nakajima’s The Man Who Shot the Don (Don o totta otoko, 1994)—earned the equivalent of four million dollars, it would be the last yakuza film ever made.
The Man Who Shot the Don did not earn the equivalent of four million dollars. Nevertheless, Toei attempted to return to the genre in 1999 with a film whose style and subject matter recalled the formerly popular ninkyō productions. Once again, however, the studio failed to achieve commercial success.
VIDEO CASSETTES SAVE THE GANGSTERS
As mentioned a moment ago, the core audience of yakuza eiga had moved from cinemas into the privacy of their own homes. Toei may have loudly announced the tragic end of yakuza eiga in 1994, but in truth this was little more than a catchy advertising campaign. The studio might no longer have been succeeding in cinemas, but matters looked entirely different on the video market.
Inexpensively produced video films did not need to earn enormous sums in order to turn a profit. Toei was the first studio to recognise the extraordinary rate at which VHS sales were growing. Once again moving ahead of its competitors, it launched a new production line in 1989: V-Cinema.
The first film produced under the label was Toshimichi Ōkawa’s Crime Hunter: Bullets of Rage (Kuraimu hantā: Ikari no jūdan). It proved such an enormous hit that Toei decided to base a substantial part of its operations on similar productions. From then onwards, Toei Video released two films every month.
Naturally, other studios, both large and small, decided to chase their competitor and launched video lines of their own. Nikkatsu had V-Feature, Japan Home Video had V-Movie, and VIP introduced V-Picture. None of these rather unoriginal names gained acceptance, and before long all productions made for the video market became commonly known by the single term V-Cinema.
It is worth mentioning that V-Cinema—even at Toei—was not limited to depictions of gangster rivalries. Quite the opposite: films representing practically every genre can be found within it, from erotic productions and horror to science fiction.
When Toei launched the line, it was not actually being particularly original, as it had borrowed its ideas from Nikkatsu. As we may remember, before the dominance of ninkyō eiga, Nikkatsu had enjoyed success with mukokuseki films. Crime Hunter was a variation upon precisely that cycle.
The principal objective of Toei Video, managed by producer Tatsu Yoshida, was to make productions capable of competing in Japan with American action cinema. The filmmakers therefore moved away from settings typical of Japanese cinema: the protagonist once again tended to be surrounded by foreigners, drove an American car and dressed in the manner of heroes from Hollywood productions. The narrative pace was also accelerated and greater emphasis placed upon action scenes. An attempt to modernise Japanese productions thus led filmmakers back to the 1950s and 1960s.
The new gangster films achieved respectable financial success, helping yakuza eiga experience a revival during the 1990s. The year 1990 proved important, as Toei released two hits: Banmei Takahashi’s Neo Chinpira (Neo chinpira: Teppōdama pyu) and Yasutaka Oka’s Like a Beast (Kemono no yō ni). Both films launched popular series and filled the market with imitations.
New stars soon emerged, led by Shō Aikawa and Riki Takeuchi, whose presence alone was capable of guaranteeing respectable financial results regardless of a production’s quality.
V-Cinema also proved an ideal environment for debuting directors. Producers of films intended for the video market were frequently reluctant to work with established filmmakers, both for financial reasons and because of the difficulty of reaching an understanding with them.
The directorial gap within V-Cinema therefore offered numerous assistant directors and people who had previously worked in television an opportunity to make their feature-length debuts. Toshimichi Ōkawa came from television. Takashi Miike had worked as an assistant to Shōhei Imamura and Kazuo Kuroki. Rokurō Mochizuki had previously made hardcore pornography. Takahisa Zeze assisted Hisayasu Satō before embarking upon his own conquest of pinku eiga, where Kiyoshi Kurosawa had also begun his career while simultaneously making independent and television productions. One of Kurosawa’s assistants, meanwhile, was Shinji Aoyama, who would soon achieve success as a director himself.
All these filmmakers, with the exception of Ōkawa, achieved success not only within the domestic market but also gained international reputations, confirming the importance of V-Cinema in the history of Japanese film.
For gangster cinema, the most important directors among those listed above are undoubtedly Takashi Miike and Rokurō Mochizuki. Naturally, the aforementioned Kurosawa also demonstrated his distinctive style in such productions as the six-film Suit Yourself or Shoot Yourself!! series (Katte ni shiyagare!!, 1995–96), which combined yakuza cinema with comedy. He is unquestionably a director who had a greater influence upon Japanese horror cinema, however.
Rokurō Mochizuki, meanwhile, surprised everyone with the independent Skinless Night (Sukinresu naito) in 1991, before achieving success in gangster cinema with The Wicked Reporter (Gokudō kisha, 1993), in which he presented a bleak and realistic portrait of criminal life. His most important productions, however, are indisputably the sombre The Fire Within (Onibi, 1997) and the unsettling Everyone’s a Moon (Minazuki, 1999).
The revival of gangster cinema did not go unnoticed by other filmmakers either. One example was manga artist Takashi Ishii, who came from pinku eiga and directed several intriguing productions, including the popular and pessimistic yet energetic Gonin (1995).
One of the principal roles in the film was played by Takeshi Kitano, who, together with Takashi Miike, is currently the most internationally popular director working extensively within yakuza eiga. He is also undoubtedly the director associated with the genre who has earned the greatest esteem among international critics.
Before entering gangster cinema, Kitano was associated primarily with television. Unlike Ōkawa or Kurosawa, however, he was a comedian. He had also already delivered several successful acting performances, including one in Nagisa Ōshima’s war drama Merry Christmas, Mr Lawrence (1983).
Kitano became a director almost by accident. He was due to play the leading role in Violent Cop (Sono otoko, kyōbō ni tsuki), which was to be directed by Kinji Fukasaku. Other commitments forced Fukasaku to withdraw from the production, prompting Kitano to replace the legendary filmmaker. As a result, Kitano made his directorial debut with a successful gangster drama in the same year that V-Cinema began.
Kitano’s distinctive cinema moved away from the traditions of both ninkyō and jitsuroku, presenting a different approach to the cycle. Minimalist dialogue, unpredictable editing and static shots were combined with considerable violence and an ironic sense of humour. The protagonist, meanwhile, became an almost emotionless outcast who advances towards death with stoic fatalism.
Boiling Point (3-4 x jūgatsu, 1990), Sonatine (1993), Hana-bi (1997) and Brother (2000) earned Kitano international recognition and prestigious awards. Perhaps more importantly, they drew attention to the fact that yakuza films had much to offer, and that many of them were interesting, ambitious and occasionally experimental works decidedly worthy of discovery.
As a result, the films of directors such as Seijun Suzuki, Tai Katō, Kinji Fukasaku and Teruo Ishii began receiving international appreciation and appearing at festivals around the world.
Today, yakuza eiga is not as prolific or artistically fascinating a genre as it was until comparatively recently. Japanese cinema as a whole, with several exceptions, no longer produces the same number of worthwhile films that it did even twenty years ago.
This does not mean, however, that admirers of the yakuza have been completely abandoned. As recently as the 2010s, audiences could see third instalments of Ishii’s Gonin and Kitano’s Outrage. In 2015, Miike pitted Japanese gangs against vampires, while the frequently divisive Sion Sono also contributed a few words of his own to the subject.
Although there is currently little indication that the yakuza will make a glorious return to the height of their popularity, noteworthy productions continue to appear, while numerous gems from the past remain waiting to be discovered.
(7) Kōji Tsuruta was born in 1924 and, following his parents’ divorce, was raised by his grandmother. He grew up in Osaka, where he belonged to a street gang. During the Second World War, he became a pilot. He later suffered from trauma caused by his wartime experiences, during which most of his friends were killed.
Still struggling with psychological problems, Tsuruta worked as an actor for Shochiku during the 1950s. He experienced another breakdown after the studio forced him to end his affair with actress Keiko Kishi, with whom he had appeared in A Night in Hawaii (Hawaii no yoru, Masahiro Makino and Shūe Matsubayashi, 1953).
As an actor, however, he achieved enormous success and became exceptionally popular with audiences. His fame reached its peak in the middle of the 1960s, when he concentrated primarily upon playing middle-aged gangsters marked by tragic destinies.
(8) Born in 1926, Noboru Andō came from a family with samurai roots—the samurai class had been abolished in Japan in 1873—but spent his youth in a criminal environment and eventually became a yakuza.
During one fight, a Korean gangster slashed his cheek with a knife, leaving the distinctive scar on his face. Andō founded his own yakuza family in 1952. At its height, it contained approximately three hundred members and controlled Shibuya. It also owned legitimate businesses, including a chain of nightclubs.
In June 1958, his family was insulted by businessman Hideki Yokoi after the gangsters attempted to recover money owed to them. This had far-reaching consequences. Andō ordered Yokoi’s murder, attracting the attention of the police. He spent thirty-five days fleeing the law before he was finally arrested and sentenced to six years in prison.
Following his release, he dissolved his family in December 1964. Shortly afterwards, a Shochiku producer offered Andō a role in a film based upon his life. The production was entitled Blood and Rules (Chi to okite, Namio Yuasa) and premiered in 1965.
Andō quickly adapted to acting and soon moved to Toei at Kōji Shundō’s suggestion. He appeared in a total of fifty-one films for the studio. He retired from acting in 1979, limiting himself to occasional performances, producing and writing novels.
He did not return to acting more regularly until 1997, when he appeared in V-Cinema productions. At the same time, he began advising upon and supervising films marketed under his name. The first part of their titles usually read ‘The True Stories of Noboru Andō’, or some variation upon it.
The films were not directly connected with Andō himself. His name was primarily intended to attract viewers and—because he acted as an adviser—to guarantee realism, although the degree of realism varied considerably.
(9) Ken Takakura was born in Fukuoka in 1931. He graduated from the prestigious Meiji University and subsequently attended an audition for Toei’s ‘new faces’, making his debut in Fujio Tsuda’s Lightning Karate Blow (Denkō karate uchi) in 1956.
Initially cast as unruly young men, he did not achieve genuine success until he began playing stoic tough guys who erupted into aggressive attacks during the finales. The film that ultimately elevated him to the height of popularity was Teruo Ishii’s Abashiri Prison (Abashiri bangaichi) in 1965. He also sang its theme song, which became an enormous hit.
(10) During the filming of Blood of Revenge (Meiji kyōkakuden: Sandai shūmei, 1965), Tsuruta angrily ran to his dressing room and threatened to abandon the production after Katō repeatedly criticised him without explaining why.
