Blade of Glory

Living legend Tatsuya Nakadai gets the executive treatment.

Speak his name to those who worship vintage Japanese movies, and a look of reverence will pass over their faces. Should the uninitiated ask “Who?” or simply shrug, just mention a few of the memorable roles this actor has played over the past 50 years. He was the gun-toting punk in Yojimbo (1961), the do-or-die warrior in Sanjuro (1962) and the determined police detective in High and Low (1963). You could also bring up the smitten bar owner in When a Woman Ascends the Stairs (1960); the woodcutter in J-horror’s Rosetta stone, Kwaidan (1964); or the Lear-like lion in winter of Ran (1985). He is Tatsuya Nakadai, an actor whose popularity in his native country was rivaled only by that of his frequent costar, Toshiro Mifune. And after the next couple of months, you’ll never again have to remind New Yorkers who he is.

On Friday 20, Film Forum kicks off a seven-week-long tribute to Nakadai, showcasing both the star’s well-known collaborations with Akira Kurosawa, Kon Ichikawa and Masaki Kobayashi, and a number of equally worthy, though rarely revived, works, such as the three-part epic The Human Condition (1959). The 75-year-old actor himself is gracing the retrospective with rare stateside appearances, including a Q&A on opening night and a special “Evening with Tatsuya Nakadai” event on Tuesday 24. Ironically, the first major film that Nakadai appeared in isn’t on the bill, as his screen time lasts a whopping three seconds. Yet he still refers to this particular walk-on as a key moment.

“Ah, yes, my role in The Seven Samurai,” Nakadai says, calling from his office in Tokyo. “All I was required to do was stroll through a scene. That was it. So I go from one end of the set to the other, and apparently, Mr. Kurosawa didn’t like my gait. He had me ‘rehearse’ how to walk like a samurai from nine in the morning until three in the afternoon. I vowed to myself, I will never work with Kurosawa again!” The actor lets out a loud, baritone laugh. “I ended up making five more films with him, so thankfully, I wasn’t that adamant. It was the beginning of a very important professional relationship.”

Nakadai wouldn’t officially be “discovered” for another three years, when a chance meeting with Masaki Kobayashi ended in a Schwab’s-drugstore-worthy twist of fate and star-making roles in Black River (1957) and The Human Condition. But that cameo still managed to convince viewers that he was someone worth watching. “I remember seeing him swagger through that scene and thinking, Who is that guy?,” Donald Richie, scholar and coauthor of The Japanese Film, says. “You just notice him immediately; he uses those three seconds wisely. Nakadai was already a stage actor at that point, so he understood the importance of creating a presence. He also had an extraordinary range, and could completely disappear into a role.”

After watching Nakadai’s gallery of easy lovers, eager-beaver hoodlums and weary warriors, it’s hard to believe all of these creations sprang from the same actor. And given the star’s knack for grand gestures—another product of his theater training—his portrayal of stoic, free-floating evil in the Bad Lieutenant of samurai films, The Sword of Doom (1966), is something of a minimalist miracle. Arguably Nakadai’s greatest role, his character is a nihilistic psychopath who never betrays his reasons for wreaking havoc. “That enigmatic element was what made the story so interesting to me,” the star explains. “[Director Kihachi] Okamoto and I both agreed: We aren’t going to lay out everything explicitly. The film is now considered a cult classic, although its reception at the time was very mixed. The fact that we didn’t provide answers made filmgoers very uncomfortable.”

Though Nakadai remains widely respected in Japan and he’s still an active presence on stage and screen, he laments the passing of the era of Kurosawa and Ichikawa, even as he refuses to wallow in nostalgia. “I feel very lucky to have been part of that golden age,” the actor says. “Given how expensive it is to make movies today, I have no idea what will happen to the industry. Yet I think that this generation will produce its own Kurosawa and help make cinema a vital art form again. It may not happen in my lifetime, but as an actor, I still hold out hope.”

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