Directed by Umetsugu Inoue. Written by Kaneto Shindô
Confidence and a certain swagger, however dumb, will take you far, and Black Lizard is proof, featuring theater kid energy and unbridled imagination in a campy cat-and-mouse game between Japan’s greatest detective and its most notorious thief, the Black Lizard.
Featuring double-on-double-crosses, triple-fakeouts, lurid sexuality, class warfare, musical acts, caricature character actors, and all of it wrapped in glee, Black Lizard isn’t the most polished product, but it more than makes up for it in its self-belief. Wacky, but deeply committed to that wackiness, you can’t help but be won over by its excesses, like those one-man-bands – with the marching band drum strapped to their stomach, harmonica holder perched atop, snare tied to one leg, and trumpet clasped in hand – suddenly stepping on stage in a jazz club, soulful lighting granting an otherwise silly spectacle an unexpected coolness.
Minoru Ôki is Kogorô Akechi, Japan’s finest private eye, and he’s on the job protecting Sanae Iwase (Junko Kanô), daughter of a wealthy jewelry dealer, from kidnapping threats made by an enigmatic thief who goes by Black Lizard. In the guise of Machiko Kyô, Black Lizard’s a wild wind, impossible to reign in, and domineering in both her ability for deception and those intangible wiles that puts others underfoot.
Kyô’s almost a dominatrix, thrilled in her antics and the power she feels, and the jester-like joy she exudes as she befuddles law enforcement and bosses minions around is what legends are made of. Opposite her, Ôki’s all earned arrogance as the best crimestopper there is, inescapable and assured of that fact. Ôki’s bright smile dukes it out with Kyô’s grin.
The song and dance between these two alpha operators is fun, but what makes Black Lizard memorable is the song and dance around it – literally. Inoue’s movie is a comedy, sly thriller, action adventure, and somehow a musical as well, as if it didn’t have enough going on. Characters have their own themes, others will break into dance when emotion takes hold, and the energy with which Black Lizard carries itself is that of a go-go dancer, thumbs flying over shoulders as hips swivel to a wild rhythm.
The, at times, B-movie production quality and pulpy technique gives everything a homemade feel despite the scale of Inoue’s film, and the knock-on effect is that you feel as if you’re watching something overcoming its physical limitations with an abundance of imagination, making the most out of very little and selling it with gusto.
It’s a genuine bit of showmanship and there’s plenty of things to occupy you, be it the outsized performances, its idiosyncratic plot beats (Kyô at one point tenderly embraces a divan in a way you’d never think possible), or simply how it successfully hits all its beats, however surprising and deranged they may be.
Mikkel Frederiksen 