Underworld Beauty

Finally: Underworld Beauty (1958). An early film in the cannon of Seijun Suzuki. An opportunity to watch a film of his new to me is always a blessing. 

Ex-prisoner, Miyamoto (Michitaro Mizushima) grabs the diamonds from an old heist and seeks to use them to help his injured ex-partner in crime Mihara (Toru Abe). Unfortunately the sale of the diamonds goes wrong, Mihara swallows the stones and dies. Miyamoto’s ex-boss Oyane (Shinsuke Ashida) and others will do anything to get the diamonds and so the stage is set.

Those used to Suzuki’s later work would be forgiven for thinking that Underworld Beauty is a more straightforward film than those he’s better known for and dismiss it. But don’t let that either put you off or make you think this is not a real gem, because it is. Yes, it feels very influenced by American noir films, especially the more nihilistic ones of the 50s and I’d not be surprised if it had been directly influenced by a film like Robert Aldrich’s Kiss Me Deadly, because there’s a real, intentional harsh desperation often at work in Underworld Beauty. In parts it reminded me of Kinji Fukasaku’s remarkably brutal 1964 Wolves, Pigs and Men, that film being one again where there is a sweaty desperation to extract ill-gotten gains from the innocent. Underworld Beauty has aspects of this: the honest ex-con Mihara and his sister, the titular character, Akiko (Mari Shiraki), are toys for those that would do anything to take the stones from them, which if not by right, at least by dint of being gifted by the honest yakuza, Miyamoto.

But let’s step back, as the film’s introduction, with its luxuriant widescreen and Miyamoto’s descent into a sewer sets the tone. The contrasting light and darkness has a gorgeousness that only black and white can provide and much of the film, especially the opening, is suffused by this delineated chiaroscuro loveliness. As a tone setter you know where the film is going but visually, of course, the sharp clarity between light and darkness is symbolic as always of those on the side of avarice, mindless greed and then those capable of seeing beyond themselves. Not that this is necessarily a story of good vs evil, but instead characters capable of empathy and humanity even if they sometimes hide it. Our protagonist, Miyamoto, and the sister of the dead man, Akiko, are the two grey areas. Miyamoto is the ex-con, albeit noble in character, who is more than capable of violence; Akiko is hard-boiled, a rocket of energy, booze, sex, nudity and hedonism, yet these are somewhat facades for  a vulnerability that lies beneath. Miyamoto is very much a form that we can recognise from many yakuza films running up to the 1970's, but Akiko is unusual, a sensual and sometimes almost unbearable form; her boyfriend, artist and sculptor Arita (Hiroshi Kondo) often has to drag her off him. She’s exhausting, a visceral creature that seems to be exploding on screen and in life, someone who you can see burning out in an incandescent blur of excess.  

Mari Shiraki gives a terrific, committed performance as Akiko, and it feels a decade ahead of its time. There is nothing about it that is inhibited, quite the opposite in fact, but there is also an ability to shift into vulnerability without it seeming false. She’s papering over the cracks of life by burning out fast. True that many of the other characters are equally well-drawn, arguably unusually so for a short genre potboiler. The obsequious Osawa (Kaku Takashina) is just the right side of cackling deference and sweaty greed, while Akiko’s boyfriend, Arita’s move from restrained if passionate artist to brutal, desperate avarice is curiously realistic, if not sympathetic. Miyamoto may be of a type but Michitaro Mizushima has the right feel for his slightly weary yakuza, who is a man of honour.  

Moreover, the film makes the absolute best of its limitations. The initial concept of a dead man with diamonds in his stomach is a great setup but one that could get tired quickly, but the film plays with it and the ramifications beautifully. Much of this is because of how his characters relate to each other, how they individually develop, which keeps things moving at pace. That and how Suzuki uses his locations, because there’s something of a chamber piece about the film. Though some scenes are shot externally, much of the film moves between the hedonistic, sex-suffused bar run by boss Oyane and his Turkish bath. Suzuki makes use of each location brilliantly. The bar, with its eroticised glass designs, is energetic, young, and full of sweaty youths where dancing is as much about sex as smooth moves. The same is true of the factory where Akiko and her beau work, which makes mannequins - very voluptuous mannequins. Yes, in case my oh so subtle language hasn’t worked, there is a real erotic energy to much of the film’s imagery but it’s a reflection of the time and place. The same is true of the Tuskish bath, with the women who work there wandering around in swimsuits that seem more like underwear, and the location of a fabulous denouement, that even if ostensibly conventional, provides a cracking ending.

Yes, like many film noir there is a slightly pat happy-ending prologue but like the best noir it doesn’t touch the sides of what has happened up until that point, never detracts from the dark hearts of what has gone before, and actually those that have their possibly happy ending of sorts you feel they genuinely deserve it.  

While as noted this is not Seijun Suzuki at his most iconoclastic, but watched in terms of him mastering a straight genre film it’s a great achievement. He makes of a straightforward potboiler a tight, taut, beautifully filmed work of character driven mayhem, with a real sense of time, place and sweaty desperate greed and sensuality.

What’s not to like?

Also, a reminder that Suzuki's 1959 40-minute short Love Letter is included as an extra, and it's very good. So make sure you watch it.