Although it has its amusing moments, in eneral the plot does not convince.

The movie is made so realistic it has a lot of that WoW feeling at the right moments and never tooo over the top. the suspense is done so well and the emotion is felt. Very well put together with the music and all.

If you like to be scared, if you like to laugh, and if you like to learn a thing or two at the movies, this absolutely cannot be missed.

Great movie. Not sure what people expected but I found it highly entertaining.

Kurosawa's 'film noir' about a rookie police officer (Toshiro Mifune) who loses his gun, and then endures shame and guilt as it's used in robberies and murder while he tries to track it down with a more seasoned officer (Takashi Shimura). The film is gritty, realistic, and successful as a police drama set during a sweltering heat wave that has everyone sweating and fanning as the cops descend into the underbelly of Tokyo. The only miss on Kurosawa's part that I could see was a long stretch of time early on where Mifune wanders around through the streets; this was simply too long, but even then, it allows us some excellent scenes of postwar Japan. Kurosawa heightens the action by having it run through places like a baseball game and a risqué dance hall; the cinematography is excellent, and the tension is great particularly towards the end of the film.It was remarkable for me to reflect that the Japanese had been in such a bitter, violent war just years earlier, as the film's general themes are universal, and we're reminded of just how similar we all are. The older cop's traditional family life is shown in one scene, ending sweetly in them looking on at his little kids sleeping, "like pumpkins in a field".At the same time, the distinctive psyche of the Japanese in this time period is also revealed. Tellingly, the rookie policeman has had a similar background as the criminal they're pursuing and sympathizes with him; the older cop sees that as philosophy stemming 'après-guerre', and believes in more black/white, good/bad terms. There is certainly symbolism at play in both of the younger men having been dealt an unfair fate, robbed of an easier life in the world they're growing up in. One turns to a life of crime, which continues on until the 'stray dog' becomes a 'rabid dog'; the other is upright and moral to the point of even sympathizing with him, which is admirable. The older cop provides stability, and at the end cautions him to forget, and let time heal. Kurosawa seems to show validity in both views. One must understand why others may falter in such an environment, and yet remain righteous. One must remember the past, and yet move on.

So once again Kurosawa, and all players involved, completely demonstrate their endless versatility and ability to approach any subject. Although it's not necessary, I'd recommend watching Drunken Angel first, as Stray Dog is essentially as continuation of the post- war malaise that hung heavy in the atmosphere there, to the point where here it actually has important character and narrative implications. Drunken Angel was particularly memorable in its use of a single stagnant pool that as the one unchanging image of the film, reminded us of humanity's lingering corruption, and on a more national scale, the zeitgeist of Japan at the time. This was in the wake of the bomb, and here the air is oppressively heavy, characters are always marked by sweat and are habitually wiping their foreheads, people who populate the streets look by turns untrustworthy and suspicious of passers-by, many of them are emaciated and seem displaced, and in this fetid and feverish air there's a general feeling of a swelling, something expanding until bursting in exhaustion. The opening-credits shot of a panting dog captures the nature of the film pretty succinctly; fatigue, wear, and perseverance. What really drives this steady progression of overwhelming heat is the simple act in the beginning of the film of Det. Murakami's (Toshiro Mifune) pistol being stolen, triggering an intense and labouring journey through the city, where every moment in which the gun is clutched in the hands of a criminal, and every time it's used for some crime, the anxiety is increased immeasurably. Paul Thomas Anderson (who used this lost gun element in Magnolia, one of my favourite films) said that we feel every punch of the film, and golly is that true. Much of this dramatic urgency is spurred by Mifune, who as Murakami is everything his character in Drunken Angel, or any other Mifune I've seen, is not. He's awkward, naïve, earnest, but physically unsure of himself. Gone is the swaggering gangster or rabid bandit or stoic samurai. Kurosawa was an innovative director, and has been endlessly influential, so it's no surprise that here what we get is an early progenitor of the procedurals and everybody's favourite buddy- cop dynamic. Lethal Weapon is like children's role play compared to this though. Before he is paired with Takashi Shimura, the other detective, we get a lengthy sequence of Murakami tailing a woman across the city that he knows is involved with the disappearance of his gun. This chase has that street-level intensity that is a defining characteristic of the noir, and as he chases her through the city they pass through alleys and bars and even take a ride on public transport, and through all this it's easy to imagine this being Los Angeles or New York. Eventually he corners her to a restaurant, which she holes up in. Being the pleasant and patient man he is, rather than hounding away at her, he waits outside for hours until she eventually gives in and talks to him. All of this was worth it simply for the beautiful composition of this scene, in which a harmonica player occupies the foreground, as Mifune sits dejectedly behind him, face drawn to his legs. After the woman tells him that his gun is lost somewhere in the gun racket of the city's seedy underbelly, he knows he'll have to go undercover, poor bastard. There's a wonderful moment where they both look up at the stars, and not only does this a offer a chance to breathe after being overwhelmed by the gravity of the streets, but it's perhaps also something of a ancestor to that iconic shot in Rashōmon, which stares directly into the piercing sun.The sequence in which a dirtied and ragged Mifune goes undercover and wanders the streets looking for a way into the gun racket perhaps goes on for too long, as its point was made as soon as we understand that the people are a combination of suspicious and indifferent towards him and he is having no success. But I think perhaps what Kurosawa is underlining is the actual condition of these people, and I think it's no coincidence that we see emaciated and forlorn individuals who all seem so fixed in their places they're like unquestionable parts of the environment. It's a post-war distress, and when Mifune is partnered with Shimura, their dinner conversation that they have (In Shimura's house, who as the older, experienced cop, is obligated to invited Mifune over for dinner, because that's how buddy-cop dynamics work) returns to this idea of the war as a generational dividing line. "Maybe there are no bad people, only bad situations" Mifune wonders, who despite being a war veteran, still has a reserve of optimism which he clutches on to. "Leave the writing to the writers" Shimura retorts, as he's a house of wisdom, a man who's seen all there is to see, who knows what he knows and has no room left for philosophical changes of heart. Kurosawa loved the master/pupil dynamic, and this is employed brilliantly in the police procedural format, so as the two detectives scour the city through blood and sweat, dirt and shimmering heat, from a Baseball game to a Burlesque show, getting closer to the man with the gun, the final confrontation itself rests purely on the shoulders of Mifune, in what is a beautiful unburdening of all that accumulated tension. What ultimately you have here is a police story that is an evocative journey through post-war Japan, a gradual peeling back of layer after layer in Kurosawa side-wipe fashion that is no less thrilling than any of its American counterparts.

Anyone interested in the genre of film noir dare not fail to see this amazing contribution from Japan, positively oozing with postwar angst and dwelling upon the dazed, uncomprehending, and often despairing ex-soldiers who have become 'stray dogs' in society. 'Sometimes a stray dog can become a mad dog,' says the wise detective Sato in this atmospheric drama. The film is written and directed by the greatest of Japanese filmmakers, Akira Kurosawa. He made this film immediately following his very downbeat and depressing medical drama, THE SILENT DUEL (1949). This was the third successive film Kurosawa made with the brilliant actor Toshiro Mifune, with whom he would go on collaborating on films for many years to come. The finest performance in the film is by Takashi Shimura (1905-1982), as Detective Sato. He infuses so much deep character and poignancy into his role, that it is a marvel to watch. He was certainly a very great actor indeed. Mifune, who was later to become a master himself, was at this stage still just a handsome young leading man. In watching this film for the first time, I was struck by the jerky movements of most of the men in the film, especially those of Mifune. This strange body language is apparently meant amongst that strange race to show respect. But it really resembles nothing so much as the sudden, alarming, jerky movements of lizards. Have you ever watched a resting lizard on a wall? It suddenly jerks its head around, suddenly changes its stance, suddenly stands erect, suddenly runs off. That is what formal Japanese men are like in these Kurosawa movies, and it is not an endearing quality. Shimura does none of this, thank God. That is another reason why he seems so much more human, someone a Westerner can comprehend and relate to. The film also features a marvellous performance by Keiko Awaji as Harumi Namaki, the showgirl girlfriend of the 'mad dog' killer, Yusa. Mifune plays a young detective named Murakami, who has just begun his job, hoping it will focus him and purge him of the memories of the War and its immediate aftermath, when he had his pack and all his money stolen as he made his way home. Throughout this film everyone is sweltering in the most horrendous heatwave and they all wipe their brows continuously. There is of course no air conditioning, there are only little hand-held fans. Murakami is nearly fainting with the heat in a crowded bus after work, becomes distracted, and his pocket is picked, and his detective's Colt pistol is stolen. This initiates the complex chain of events which constitute the rambling and tortuous plot of the film, which becomes Murakami's first case, which he shares with the uncle figure, Sato. One of the most amazing scenes in the film is when we see the troupe of girl dancers leave the stage and retreat to a room where they can rest between shows. They all lie down gasping with the heat, like beached fish. It is, I do believe, one of the most remarkable scenes I have ever seen on film, and it is impossible to describe the intensity of the atmosphere and the intimacy of it all sufficiently. This film is extraordinary for daring, dynamic, and imaginative camera work. It is simply dazzling, right from the first scenes. The moving camera as it follows people running is a marvel. So many shots are original, everything about the composition is charged with energy and unique visual power. The film is a true work of genius. Sometimes there are countries fortunate enough to produce a film director of such stature that his images and films come to constitute the way in which one thinks of the country. India had Satyajit Ray, Italy had Luchino Visconti, Argentina had Leopoldo Torre Nilsson, Sweden had Ingmar Bergman, and Japan had Akira Kurosawa. Without such towering giants of the cinema, we would understand so much less of those countries. Cinematic geniuses are often the megaphones through which the voice of a nation is magnified to the world.

In the sweltering heat of post-war Japan, rookie detective Murakami (Toshiro Mifune) loses his Colt automatic after boarding a crowded tram. With the assistance of veteran cop, Detective Sato (Takashi Shimura), Murakami delves into the seamy underworld of black market dealers and desperate criminals in a race against time to recover the weapon.Made before Kurosawa's famed Rashomon, STRAY DOG is a noir-style examination of responsibility and the chain of destruction and harm generated by the material cause of one moments inattention. The film takes obvious visual inspiration from American film noir, though the moral predicament which consumes Murakami can be understood in a distinctively Japanese way; as a thoughtful articulation of simple decency and honour reclaimed."The swords the samurai wore as their prerogative and sign of caste were not mere decorations. They had the right to use them on the common people" The loss of a samurai's sword was the loss of honour, which only its recovery could restore. For Murakami, his aloofness resulting in the theft of his gun is a source of great shame. On first hearing of the Colt's implication in an armed robbery, he offers his superior a letter of resignation. Rather than accept, the chief partners him with the experienced Detective Sato. A sort of master/student dichotomy. The idea of culpability,explored to a greater extent in RASHOMON(1950) is the locus of STRAY DOG. It also provides a moral imperative for the films protagonist.In order to redeem himself, Murakami traverses the ruins of a post-war society. His search leads him through slums and sleazy districts; lowly inhabitants desperate for money explain their rejection of morally coded behaviour. The sense of duty Murakami ascribes to is starkly opposed to this, essentially, that the vicissitudes of life can justify larceny and violence. The trail leads to Yusa (Isao Kimura) whom Murakami shares a great deal in common with though they have chosen to take different paths. Both are veterans of the war and have been victims to theft. Yusa embodies the fall of moral righteousness in the face of persecution and misfortune.As Sato mentions at one point "a mad dog knows only a straight road". The ability of an individual to react with wisdom in the face of a moral dilemma is diminished once one has become accustomed to the temporal fruits of vice and materialistic greed. Yusa steals to buy fine clothes, in essence, purchasing status. STRAY DOG shows the blinding nature of this path to be a a very human predicament. In the film's final sequence where Murakami pursues Yusa, the two lie side by side exasperated from the chase. The irreconcilable dualism of 'good' and 'bad' so fundamental to film noir is eroded when Yusa bursts into tears, conscious of the futility of his path. Defiance is replaced with sincerity, where "nothing is kept in reserve, nothing is expressed under disguise, nothing goes to waste".STRAY DOG is a great example of Kurosawa's attention to questions concerning morality and honour, independent of his famed period films.