A scruffy outsider walks into a room full of puffed-up idiots and mutters “idiots”—that’s the basic rhythm of Sanjuro, and it never stops being funny. Mifune doesn’t just play the role; he prowls through it like a man deeply fed up with being a Samurai, but also, surrounded by, yes, idiots. He scratches, scowls and sighs his way across a plot full of honourable speeches and incompetent plans, being left to save the day.
This ronin, doesn’t just break the rules—he acts like he’s already played the game before. It’s practically meta: he moves through Kurosawa’s samurai verse like a player who’s read the manual, spotting twists and traps long before the young, sword-waving idiots do.
The story’s fine—schemes, standoffs, betrayal—but the pleasure’s in the dynamic. Every time the idealists puff up with righteousness, Sanjuro deflates them with a shrug and a muttered insult. It’s tight, stylish, and slyly hilarious. A film where the hero fights for the cause… while clearly thinking the cause is full of idiots.