I’m back after my Fossethon break just in time for another break, but also with a late contribution to Squish’s Kurosaw-a-Thon, honoring the great Akira Kurosawa. (You were expecting maybe Herman Kurosawkavich?)

Note: This post contains a discussion of a key plot point occurring about half-way through both Kurosawa’s High and Low and King’s Ransom by Ed McBain.

After looking around online for a bit, I’m starting to get the idea that the 1959 87th Precinct novel, King’s Ransom, written by Evan Hunter under his pen name of Ed McBain, would be all but forgotten if Akira Kurasawa (and four other writers) had not adapted it for his 1963 crime epic, High and Low. McBain’s book is invariably mentioned in reviews, but one very intriguing difference in plot is never discussed — perhaps partly because of concerns about spoilers, but also, I suspect, because not that many film writers have actually gone and read it.

More people should: the difference is both crucial and revealing. Obviously, there’s nothing unusual about filmmakers changing the plot of a book they’re adapting, but in this case this crucial change goes beyond the usual reasons for altering a plot — there would be no particular dramaturgical problem with staying closer to the book, and McBain’s crucial plot choice is not a bad one from the time and place in which he was writing.

There are many superficial differences, but the basic set-ups of High and Low and King’s Ransom are nearly identical: An ambitious, exacting businessman, named, obviously enough, Douglas King in the book and Kingo Gondo in the film, is embroiled in an internal power struggle for control of the company he loves. Basically an idealist, King/Gondo (Gondo is played by Toshiro Mifune), has put together enough stock to take control of the company and do something that many capitalists find really strange — produce quality goods. He has mortgaged himself to the hilt and is ready to make the gamble of his life and complete the transaction that will give him control of the company. Then, a sickening stroke of fate turns a gamble into a horrible dilemma.

A kidnapper has abducted the son of his chauffeur, mistaking the boy for the industrialist’s own child. The police advise paying the ransom. In return, they promise to do their best to hunt down the kidnapper and retrieve the crucial cash. Unfortunately for King/Gondo, even if the money is returned, his transaction will likely have evaporated and the result will be bankruptcy.

A great deal of agonizing follows in both the novel and film — it would be one thing to sacrifice all of his wealth and decades of work for his own child, but for another man’s son? Just what does a man owe to another person, neither a relative nor a particularly close friend, out of simple humanity? If the question is, “what would Jesus/Buddha/Gandhi do?”, the answer is easy. But what would you do? Unless we really are out-and-out Ayn Randian anti-altruists, most of us at least argue that we feel some responsibility to our fellow man. But just how much? Would you give up everything you and your family have to save the life of an acquaintance’s child? What about a child or an adult you’ll never meet?

And now we arrive at the key plot/character differences between the McBain novel and the Kurasawa film, and why they’re interesting….Last stop for spoiler-phobes!

Western imperialism

The difference is simple. In High and Low, Kingo Gondo ultimately succumbs to the largely unspoken entreaties of those around him and decides to sacrifice his fortune to save the life of the boy. He pays the money and the boy is returned. The admiring team of detectives, led by Tetsuya Nakadai’s charismatic Det. Chief Tokura, relentlessly pursues the kidnapper.

In King’s Ransom, however, Doug King shockingly makes the exact opposite decision. He ultimately chooses to ignore not only his wife’s pleading — not surprisingly, she’s a much more openly assertive presence in the American version — but he disregards her threats to leave him, deciding to keep the money and let his business deal go through. As he sees it, his work is his life (something Gondo also believes), and nothing can force him to sacrifice his life — if his wife leaves him and takes their son, so be it. She does just that, and he can offer no argument.

Apparently valuing his work life more than his physical life, however, he also decides to go beyond normal cooperation with the policemen of the 87th precinct, and ultimately places himself in real jeopardy to save the life of the kidnapped child — who he claims to not even particularly like, even if he is his beloved son’s best friend. Lest we think he’s having his cake and eating it too, King’s family remains broken at the novel’s end.

It’s not hard to see the societal parallels between the two resolutions: the individualism of the American ethos, accentuated by the go-for-broke commercialism of the late fifties and early sixties versus the more group-inspired ethos of Japanese culture, struggling to integrate modern day capitalism and consumer culture without losing its soul. A spare 176 pages long, Hunter’s book is no sociological meditation, but there is an implied criticism of the materialism and the culture of the gray flannel suit, though it’s a reasonably far cry from Mad Men. Nevertheless, King pays a terrible price for his commitment to business success, but business is also his art.

Gondo, pays a heavy psychic price as well, but he manages to retain both his family and his soul. Moreover, everywhere he turns, collectives back him up, most particularly the police and the public, who have been won over by his sacrifice. While the film’s implied criticism of growing social inequality between the “heaven” that Gondo lives in and the “hell” of an underworld below him is frequently cited along with the more literal translation of the film’s title, “Heaven and Hell,” the social contract is basically steady here. Society is both troubled and essentially healthy. Whereas McBain’s 87th precinct cops work together effectively almost despite themselves, Kurasawa’s cops are team players through and through.

This is one police movie where no one has a fight with their superiors, city hall never takes the star detective off the case…because there is no star detective. Det. Tokura and the gruff-but-amiable colleague Bos’n (Kenjiro Ishiyama) work in tandem. They retain their differing personalities, but are part of a structure made up of individuals working together without any apparent interest in personal glory, putting the pieces of the puzzle together that ultimately leads to the kidnapper’s whereabouts and ultimate downfall.

Kurasawa constantly emphasizes the group dynamics. During the almost theatrical sections set in Gondo’s large home — palatial by Japanese standards, he stages a number of widescreen tableaux placing his characters in representations of unity or disunity, as the story dictates. It is only after the decision about the ransom has been made that the film opens up from almost this almost theatrical all-interior presentation where multiple personal and professional confrontations play out in the same room, without regard to privacy or station in society, and even including the children in relatively frank discussions of the disturbing situation.

Nevertheless, this is a film with two loners at its heart. Gondo, the industrialist, a man set apart from those he loves by his commitment to his business, and the kidnapper (Tsutomu Yamazaki) . A total loner, seemingly incapable of any feeling for others, but also unable to control his emotions.

Gondo ultimately survives just because of where he differs from his enemy. Unlike his American counterpart, he ultimately realizes the importance of the group and sacrifices part — but not all — of himself for its greater good. He might be a loner, but, unlike the even more uncompromising Doug King, he doesn’t have to be alone. Call me a sentimental collectivist, but I think Gondo gets the better deal. He certainly fares better than High and Low’s ultimate individualist.

*****
Note: If anyone out there has read King’s Ransom and I’ve gotten any of the details wrong, feel free to let me know in comments. I read the book about a year and a half ago and I can’t find my copy, or an Internet spoiler/outline. In fact, I’m really starting to think I’m the only person alive who’s actually seen the movie and read the book. Well, there’s this guy, but then he writes…

It was very good indeed and even the “best screenplay writer of Japan” had to change little. All plot elements were essentially there.

I don’t think he read the same book as me.