Quentin Tarantino’s sprawling influence on B-series filmmakers is so vast that appearing in this dialogue about his inspirations has almost become a virtue in itself. The list of directors Tarantino has openly honored and cited in his films is short but generous, and among them lies a cohort of world-class talents he has revisited repeatedly. Seijun Suzuki, a Japanese director born in 1923 and who lived until 2017, occupies a special place in that lineage. On the occasion of his centennial, a dozen of Suzuki’s films have been restored and released, reaffirming his role as a rule-breaker who challenged conventional Japanese cinema and the gangster genre known as yakuza eiga.
Born in Tokyo on May 24, 1923, Suzuki joined the Imperial Army at the age of 20 during World War II. The brutal realities of war, where life can end in the blink of an eye amid the most fantastical moments, shaped his worldview—a blend of fatalism and absurdity. After the war, he learned filmmaking by starting as an assistant director at Shochiku studios and then building his career from there. Nikkatsu, meanwhile, specialized in low-budget, violence-driven productions completed in a few weeks.
pop art frenzy
Suzuki’s provocative style is epitomized in Youth of the Beast (1963), a tale of explosive rivalries between yakuza factions that Suzuki reshaped with his own displaced narrative. His vivid color work alternates with stark black-and-white sequences, and fast-paced action defines the tempo. From there, Suzuki’s cinema veers into official experimentation, pop art delirium, and a form of nihilism that often mirrors a chaotic Tokyo underworld. The era also traces his lens on a cadre of prostitutes in postwar Tokyo in meat market-like scenes, and the escape of two brothers pursued by a yakuza clan in rural Japan during the 1920s in White Tiger Tattoo, also known as Tattoo Life (1965).
This culminates in a late scene of Kill Bill Volume 1’s climactic fight staged on a glass floor, an homage that Tarantino later embraced. Nikkatsu executives, however, felt Suzuki’s visuals had become too unhurried and overly experimental, arguing that the continuity of the plot suffered. In response, Suzuki promised adjustments for his next project, which became Tokyo Vagrant (1966).
Favorite NWR Movie
Nicolas Winding Refn has cited Suzuki’s work as among his favorites. The film’s unbalanced aesthetics, chaotic storytelling, bold color saturations, and street-level mood create a compact, stylish arc. The image of a cool former gangster in a light-blue suit and white shoes, quietly facing danger while whistling the blues, captures the film’s essence.
Meanwhile, Suzuki pushed the stakes higher as the Nikkatsu regime pressed for conformity. Stamped to Kill (1967) is a black-and-white thriller that blends jazz improvisation, Bondian parody, Kabuki theater, and pop-art sensibilities. It follows a highly imaginative hitman evading a ghostly assassin, with the unforgettable performance by Joe Shishido in full bloom. Suzuki’s penchant for visual grandiosity and provocative framing made the film both thrilling and controversial.
From Jarmusch to Wong Kar-wai
In more recent years, Suzuki’s influence has been acknowledged by a new generation of filmmakers, including Takeshi Kitano, John Woo, Wong Kar-wai, Park Chan-wook, Tarantino, and Jim Jarmusch. In Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai (1999), Jarmusch showcases a scene that resonates with Suzuki’s radical sensibilities. Jarmusch even traveled to Japan to preview his film with Suzuki before its release, illustrating the cross-pollination between directors across generations.
Once again, Nikkatsu executives were far from enthusiastic. Stamped to Kill was labeled unintelligible and non-commercial, and Suzuki’s contract with the studio was terminated after twelve years. He sued the company and, despite a partial victory, found himself ostracized by the industry for a long decade before new opportunities appeared.
tribute to Sarasate
After a period of writing screenplays and directing commercials and television episodes, Suzuki returned to cinema in 1980 with Zigunerweisen, a strange psychological period drama inspired by the music of Pablo de Sarasate. When Japanese audiences initially rejected the film, Suzuki and producer Genjiro Arato arranged a mobile screening program to tour the country. Time would prove them right: by the end of the decade, Zigunerweisen had critics naming it among the best Japanese films of the 1980s.
Seijun Suzuki died of lung disease on February 13, 2017. Since then, his work has continued to inspire fervent devotion among fans. The director’s output represents a rare blend of personal calligraphy and fearless experimentation, inviting audiences to engage with cinema as a living, evolving conversation rather than a fixed formula. This ongoing dialogue remains a testament to a filmmaker who chose to entertain the public through audacious images and ideas.