By Justin Aylward
“Another Lonely Hitman” is a stark but textured character drama in the yakuza genre, starring Ryo Ishibashi as a man trying to reform in a world more ruthless than he remembers. A winner of three prizes at the Japanese Professional Film Awards in 1995, it remains a largely underseen work, forgotten by audiences but a unique feature from an overstuffed genre. The film challenges you with scenes of emotional despair, casual violence, but succeeds as a low-budgeted and tough examination on the emptiness inherent in crime-ridden life. It’s not a fun, uplifting watch, but a worthy one.
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Ryo Ishibashi is Tachibana, recently released from prison after a ten-year stint, who finds himself dropped back into a tumultuous den of violence. Tachibana has shown loyalty through sacrifice, and expects to be propelled up the criminal hierarchy. But times have changed since his incarceration; people are disposable, and words meaningless. Many of his former hoods have vanished and a new generation of kobun crooks are deep in the narcotics trade. Tachibana is tasked with protecting a drug-addicted prostitute – Asami Sawaki – for no other reason than becuause he is instructed to. Soon, the two are tied together in a desperate and ill-fated journey through Tokyo’s darkest corners, where Tachibana is left to wonder what’s the point, and if there is one, will it suffice?
“Another Lonely Hitman” is a bleak but resonant film about purpose, future prospects, and the possibility of love in a doomed world. Tachibana is seen as a man trapped in a violent past, recently reformed but with no place for his upgraded outlook on life. But reform is a fool’s game when you’re surrounded by others who have no conception of a better life. The protagonist realises he must continue playing the game he thought himself to forget, because the alternative is worse. The scenes unfold with an icy, melancholic texture like a funeral on a cold morning. The story shows the aimless and unforgiving lives of those entangled in criminality, when other avenues are further closed off by economic exclusion or social displacement.
Ryo Ishibashi is tremendous in the lead role. He plays a pro in a slick suit, displaying quiet competence, but concealed beneath is a bitter man whose time has passed. He is like a pristine vase but one filled with ashes and soot. If the film refuses to play for catharsis, the deeply felt performance from Ishibashi still evokes compassion. He is a man who still possesses human feeling even though it has been pulverized by an environment that thrives on emotional detachment and flimsy conceptions of loyalty. Asami Sawaki plays Yuki, the damaged prostitute turned partner, in a role that requires her to kick, cry, spit, and hiss. Still she manages to inspire pity where similar roles more often provoke apathy. Her performance is a perfect encapsulation of the movie’s tone; free of sensationalism, but a yearning for connection in a cruel and aimless world. If not for these two lead performances, “Another Lonely Hitman” would become a tiresome and clichéd soap opera.
Director Rokuro Mochizuki creates a feeling of inevitable doom, cramming the action into drab motel rooms and dank nightclubs. Tokyo is seen as a place where the sun never rises, and every street or alley conceals criminality. It’s a claustrophobic and unknowable world where interactions are fraught with suspicion. The action unfolds at a mannered pace, emphasizing the slow-motion descent of Tachibana and Yuki into a concrete jungle they can’t escape. The cinematography by Naoaki Imaizumi saturates the screen with bluish colours on grey surroundings. If other yakuza films play like non-stop chaotic operas of gang rivalry and one-upmanship, “Another Lonely Hitman” is a lament in a minor key. There is no fun to be had in driving around town, hiding in shadows and waiting for a paltry reward.
“Another Lonely Hitman” is an atypical yakuza movie. The breakneck chaos and virile tone are not to be found in Mochizuki’s work. There is little fun to be had sitting through this sad, unforgiving feature, but it’s hard to deny the impact over the final credits. What little relief Mochizuki offers, is paid back by the sincere emotion of the characters. It is hard to recommend, but what you get is a sobering depiction of an existential impasse. The script, written by Toshiyuki Morioka, asks what a man does when he learns the world has no place for people of his kind. You can keep digging and get dirtier, but it might be your own grave, and there is no climbing out of that hole.
