Detective Bureau 2-3: Go to Hell Bastards

Beneficiary of what is quite possibly the best movie title ever, Detective Bureau 2-3: Go To Hell Bastards! (Tantei jimusho 23: Kutabare akuto-domo, 1963) is a relatively early work from Seijun Suzuki, who redefined the Japanese crime film in the mid 1960s and was punished for it like the mythical Prometheus. Born in Tokyo in 1923, Suzuki was the son of a bicycle bell manufacturer, and a World War II veteran who saw action in the Philippines (and survived the sinking of his transport ship). During the country's postwar reconstruction, Suzuki brought to the Japanese film industry a deep-seated distrust of authority and an appreciation for the absurdities of chance and fate. Employed as an assistant director by Nikkatsu Studios in 1954, he helmed his first feature film there two years later. Although the robotically prolific Nikkatsu (the brand a corruption of Nippon Katsudo Shashin, or Japan Cinematograph Company) wanted nothing more than inexpensive product to put butts in Japanese cinema seats, Suzuki was unable to conform entirely to industry standards. Even Underworld Beauty (Ankokugai no bijo, 1958), a knockoff of the Warner Brothers gangster pictures, bears traces of the Suzuki's trademark irreverence. Detective Bureau 2-3: Go To Hell Bastards! was made on the cusp of Suzuki's aesthetic break-out with the highly stylized prostitute drama Gate of Flesh (Nikutai no mon, 1964), the Kurosawa-esque/Leone-like Tokyo Drifter (Tôkyô nagaremono, 1966) and his postmodern masterpiece Branded to Kill (Koroshi no rakuin, 1967) but the earmarks of his ironic sense of humor (which would ultimately get him demoted to TV work for the better part of a decade) are conspicuously evident here. In its most skeletal form, Detective Bureau 2-3: Go To Hell Bastards! is a "man inside" crime film very much in the familiar vein of Raoul Walsh's White Heat (1948), Fred F. Sears Chicago Syndicate (1955), Ringo Lam's City on Fire (Lung fu fong wan, 1987) and Quentin Tarantino's Reservoir Dogs (1992). With the Tokyo Police cracking down on racketeering within the city limits, many yakuza clans decide to relocate to the suburbs, where their schemes and predations will attract less scrutiny. As a turf war erupts between the Otsaki and Sakura gangs, a third, independent outfit works both sides against one another, hijacking shipments of drugs, arms and luxury items for their own profit. When a bloody shootout (Suzuki's gift for repurposing pop culture icons is evident even during the opening credits, as gangsters ambush their rivals from atop a Pepsi truck and soda bottles explode from the return of fire) leaves behind a stack of dead bodies, the police nab a member of the third gang stranded on the scene by a blown tire. Held in custody, the suspect becomes a hate magnet for the established clans, who cluster outside of his jail cell (à la Fritz Lang's Fury [1936]) to execute him upon release. Needing the prisoner alive as a link to this elusive third gang, police captain Kumagaya (Nobuo Kaneko, from Akira Kurosawa's Ikiru [1952]) allows Tajima (Jo Shishido), an ambitious private detective, to gain the man's confidence, spring him from jail, and follow the thug all the way back to the gang's mysterious mastermind. In the world of Seijun Suzuki, what happens is never as important or memorable as how it all goes down. Suzuki and scenarist Gan Yamazaki (adapting a novel by "hard boiled" crime writer Haruhiko Oyabu) give all of their characters, major and minor, telling ticks and peccadilloes (such as the young lovers whose passion for role playing as foreplay brings about their downfall) that gives the standard cops-and-robbers action surprising depth and texture. Suzuki even throws in a couple of production numbers in the form of cabaret stage shows, with hero Jo Shishido even jumping up at one point to dance and sing along (by way of protecting his cover from being blown by his chanteuse of an ex-girlfriend). The jazzy score by Harumi Ibe gives Detective Bureau 2-3 a swank backbeat that borders on kitsch without becoming too precious while the artful production design of Takeharu Sakaguchi gives the film an expensive gloss far beyond its budget. The requirement of shooting for widescreen obliged Suzuki and his cinematographers (in this case Shigeyoshi Mine) to "fill the frame" to justify the larger-than-life aspect ratio. As was his custom during this time, Suzuki favored cluttered, ugly cityscapes (a signifier of Japan's economic turnaround) punctuated by corporate logos (many in English) and glowing neon signage. He also evinces a predilection for inexplicable but undeniably evocative swathes of primary colors, such as Italian director Mario Bava brought to bear in such chillers as Black Sabbath (I tre volti della paura, 1963) and Blood and Black Lace (Sei donne per l'assassino, 1964). And to think Suzuki's subsequent work would only become more stylized and vibrantly chromatic. Although Kino on Film isn't known for doing much more with their foreign acquisitions than slapping on their own logo (resulting in some fair-to-middlin' transfers), their region 1 disc of Detective Bureau 2-3: Go To Hell Bastards looks surpassingly fine. The film's original "Nikkatuscope" framing has been preserved for this anamorphic transfer, although the image appears to be a touch overmatted, particularly on the bottom, which affects not only the Nikkatsu logo at the top of the film but occasional compositions throughout. Otherwise, the presentation is quite eye-pleasing and remarkably free of blemishes in the emulsion or distortions of any sort. The Dolby Digital 2.0 mono soundtrack sounds a lot more robust than it ought to. English subtitles are optional and well-integrated. A very limited image gallery and two previews for other Japanese yakuza films in the Kino catalogue are the only supplements. For more information about Detective Bureau 2-3 Go to Hell Bastards, visit Kino International. To order Detective Bureau 2-3 Go to Hell Bastards, go to TCM Shopping. by Richard Harland Smith