versus

When people first stumbled across Ryuhei Kitamura’s debut feature Versus in 2000, it felt like a film that had cinema by the figurative throat and was boldly leading it into the 21st century. In retrospect that feels a touch hyperbolic for a movie that’s essentially a big-screen version of the IT’SUGAR store - a hyper-caffeinated cartoon Yakuza Evil Dead mash-up that prioritizes style and genre-bending cool over all else (particularly narrative coherence). It’s the cinematic equivalent of dissolving a roll of Sweet Tarts in a can of Red Bull and chasing it with a sour apple Warhead. 

Supposedly there are 666 portals on Earth that connect to “the other side” and the 444th resides in a forest in Japan (“The Forest of Resurrection”). A pair of escaped prisoners - including KSC2-303 (Tak Sakaguchi) - rendezvous with a group of Yakuza soldiers… but things take a sharp turn when it’s revealed that they have a girl with them (played by Chieko Misaka) who’s being held against her will. Tensions escalate and one of the Yakuza is killed, resurrecting moments later as a zombie with impressive strength and a stubborn resistance to firepower. Before long KSC2-303 and the girl are fleeing through the forest (pausing to swap his prison jumper for a far cooler black leather trench coat, because it’s just that sort of movie) as the dead continue to rise (it’s rather unfortunate, under the circumstances, that the Yakuza have spent years using the area as their go-to dumping ground).

Eventually the Yakuza’s boss (Hideo Sakaki) shows up… and he seems to have a preternatural knowledge of what’s going on, as well as a connection to KSC2-303 and the girl that seemingly spans centuries and prior lifetimes. Versus is both narratively convoluted (grappling with concepts of predestination and reincarnation) and as blissfully simple as a bunch of characters running around a forest and fighting for two hours. If nothing else, the movie stands alongside the likes of El Mariachi in the pantheon of ultra-low-budget ingenuity. Kitamura, cognizant of his limited resources, prioritizes stylistic flair - and one can hardly blame him. The film has a genuine kinetic verve. The roving camera is infused with restless, fidgety energy - it rarely stops moving for long. Scenes often feel as if they were spliced and edited via one of the samurai swords the characters so lovingly wield. The fact that the movie spans a full 120 minutes in spite of its flimsy plot and roadrunner pacing is part of its weird, paradoxical charm; Kitamura’s madcap alchemy somehow manages to hang together in spite of itself.  ​

Tak Sakaguchi, in his breakthrough performance, preens and poses more than he actually acts… but his screen presence has a dialed-in coolness that’s not unlike the young Johnny Depp. None of the cast are really playing quote-unquote “characters” though (certainly not with names like “Yakuza Leader with Butterfly Knife,” “Crazy Yakuza with Amulet,” and “Yakuza Zombie in Alligator-Skin Coat”). Some of them - like Kenji Matsuda (as the aforementioned “Butterfly Knife”) - compensate by painting the screen with broad, haphazard strokes of personality. But the movie’s a blended martini of adrenaline and viscera; its circulatory system is designed to deliver constant endorphin hits. That may sound like superficial cinema - and it is - but when Sakaguchi and Sakaki square off in a dizzying dance of martial arts, blades and gunplay, the effect is potent. The film ends with a coda that jumps 99 years into the future and, like most of the movie, it doesn’t make all that much sense… but you definitely feel cool watching it.