In January of 2025, Radiance Films released Underworld Beauty, a 1958 yakuza drama from filmmaker Seijun Suzuki, the second restoration by the boutique distributor of the filmmaker’s work. Now, with A Tale of Sorrow and Sadness (1977), Radiance Films offers not just a third Suzuki tale for home viewing, but a first-time worldwide Blu-ray edition. Previously a filmmaker for Nikkatsu Corporation, the original contracting studio for the start of his career, Suzuki’s A Tale of Sorrow and Sadness was his return to the director’s chair in his first release from new-to-him studio Shochiku. A seemingly straightforward dramedy about a clothing company looking for an athlete to marketing their wares turns into the kind of absurdist violence one expects from the Branded to Kill (1967) filmmaker as a darker, more twisted tale of obsession, celebrity, and the loss of autonomy reveals itself in progressively upsetting ways.
Looking to increase their market share, a fabric company sets their sights on budding golfer Reiko (Yoko Shiraki), funding her training for an upcoming tournament and developing plans to turn her into a household name, should she win. While this seems like a way to make all her dreams come true, very little is real and the illusion of celebrity ends up being more dangerous than her previous experience in anonymity.
Despite what one might think from the above summary, one is likely to presume that Reiko is the protagonist of A Tale of Sorrow and Sadness. She’s the character around which a lot of the narrative revolves, easily the center figure, but the film isn’t so much interested in having the audience get to know her so much as continually keep her at an even distance. As constructed by screenwriter Atsushi Yamatoya (Dogra Magra), based on a story by Ikki Kajiwara (Karate Bear Fighter), Reiko isn’t a person, she’s a commodity. The first time the audience sees her, it’s a black-and-white picture that someone in the marketing team is using to determine the best looks for her while the dialogue discusses her talent on the green (described as a natural) and her physical appearance. Our introduction to her is not in relation to her personality, her desires, or even how she engages with others; rather, it’s all filtered through the needs of the business looking for an athlete and the sports reporter, Miyake (Yoshio Harada), who holds her infatuation. Reiko is what others make of her, not what she makes of herself, despite possessing a talent for golf. Thus, when her path crosses with an obsessive fan, Kayo Senbou (Kyōko Enami), Reiko has almost no recourse to protect herself because she’s not a person, but a receptacle for others’ needs and desires. We don’t even know if she wanted to be a pro golfer, we only know — via Miyake — that she was a caddy and was recognized to have exceptional skills while also being attractive. That she’s on the cusp of professional acclaim makes her seem like the right spokesperson for a clothing line as they can “design” her public persona, one which takes over after winning her first and only championship because then she’s worth more to the company as a model/tv personality than as a golfer. As the audiences goes further into the film, no additional depth is added to Reiko, merely more what others want and demand of her, from Miyake, Kayo, and even her younger brother Jun (Tetsu Mizuno), whom she cares for.
The film itself, in its production design, costumes, and cinematography, operates on a similar level. Outfits are simple in pattern, made up of reds, blues, and whites; the home that Reiko lives in has a bright yellow box on a wall serving as the entryway for the rope ladder Jun uses to get to his room, while an ample space is given to an in-home greenway for practice shots (it a vibrant green in the showspace). The colors within the frame aren’t exactly the technicolor extravaganza of 1966’s Black Tight Killers, but one cannot deny the eye-catching nature of the robust green of nature, the sharpness of white, or the warmth of browns on clothing, elements which make the shades of color Reiko uses on her fingernails pop all the more. All of these choices give A Tale of Sorrow and Sadness a sensation of a robust and exciting life, but it’s all a façade. Yes, we’re watching a film based on a tale from the imagination of the writers, but it’s more than that. Everything is a false equivalence to reality, giving way to a sense that not only is Reiko a tragic figure destined for destruction before we even meet her, but whatever becomes of her after the film will change nothing in regard to how systems commodify individuals, woman especially, chew them up, and move on to another without regard. Considering how frequently this happens in the modern world, a tale from 1977 seems a little obvious but no less significant. Specifically, it feels like we should’ve learned our lesson by now.
For those excited to explore this Suzuki title, let’s go over what you can expect when you pick this up. What follows is based on a retail review copy provided by MVD Entertainment Group.
As part of their limited-edition releases, A Tale of Sorrow and Sadness is restricted to 3,000 copies, each with the typical materials of other Radiance releases: a reversible liner (new art on the front, a still of Reiko’s bleeding hand on the back; original release art on the inside which includes Reiko and Miyagi nude), a removable OBI strip, and essay booklet. Heads up that the booklet is specifically part of the limited edition set, so if you’re interested in the restoration information, cast/crew information, a new essay from Jasper Sharp, and an archived essay from frequent Suzuki collaborator Atsushi Yamatoya (Branded to Kill; A Tale of Sorrow and Sadness), you’ll want to act with some haste.
The presentation itself starts a little rough and then smooths out. What this means is that the audio track, an uncompressed monoaural PCM audio track, experiences quite a bit of clipping during the opening montage and song, with continued clipping occurring alongside some of the dialogue. This eventually balances out, so to speak (it is monoaural), and the clipping subsides. The transfer notes indicate that Radiance was given an HD digital file of the film from Shochiku, so it’s more likely an issue with the source material than the on-disc presentation, meaning that it’s not something that could be addressed during the printing process by Radiance as the restoration, however it was made, was completed by Shochiku. It doesn’t persist for too long of a period to grate, but it is noticeable on occasion at other points in the film. Thankfully the video elements appear to suffer no such issues with no apparent grim, dirt, or other signs of degradation within the frame. Colors are appropriately vibrant in keeping with the tone and theme of the film, and details are sharp. Especially as things devolve into the more surreal end of things, the strength of the image details allows the thematic elements to retain their impact.
The bonus features for this release are about on par with the Radiance Films edition of Underworld Beauty insofar as this edition includes a brand-new feature-length audio commentary from critic and author Samm Deighan; a new interview with assistant editor Kunihiko Ukai, covering working with Suzuki at both Nikkatsu and Shochiku (a perspective not yet provided with other Suzuki titles); and a trailer. It’s not a great deal of on-disc material, but it will certainly provide interesting background to assist in providing context for the release. If you have Underworld Beauty and have yet to watch the interview with critic Mizuki Kodama, make a point to watch that, as well. It touches a great deal on A Tale of Sorrow and Sadness, and would make for an excellent additional supplemental piece, even if it’s on a different title.
Admittedly, being roughly halfway through A Tale of Sorrow and Sadness, I couldn’t help but wonder if this was going to be another instance like Underworld Beauty where the ideas of the film didn’t line up as effectively with the execution, leading to a cinematic experience best taken in once. But then the film picks up with the Kayo storyline and what Suzuki seeks to do not only because they’re far more interesting, but also because the ideas first established in the first half appropriately solidify into a point of no return that makes one quite queasy in the story’s completion. It could certainly use fewer surreal elements brought on through the inclusion of a somewhat forced side-story involving Jun, yet, without them, there’s setup to create the concrete resolution that leaves audiences feeling somewhat gobsmacked in their swift violence. There’s a critical point being made here about what happens to us when we see fame as an end-all aspiration and not a tool to be wielded as it leaves one open to being misused, abused, and controlled. Becoming famous means trading autonomy, which, may seem like an easy trade until you consider what’s lost over what’s gained. Reiko, for instance, has no relationship with her neighbors except all the rumors they spread, yet they’re absolutely willing to go to her home and tear the place (and Reiko) apart. Is this the fame Reiko ordered? Is this the life Reiko desired? We’ll never know because she remains — start to finish — the object of someone else’s desire and is never able to exist on her own. This is the tragedy Suzuki puts before us; this is his warning. A tale of sorrow and sadness, indeed.
A Tale of Sorrow and Sadness Special Features:
- High-Definition digital transfer
- Uncompressed mono PCM audio
- *New* Audio commentary by critic and author Samm Deighan
- *New* interview with editor Kunihiko Ukai (20min)
- Trailer
- Newly improved English subtitle translation
- Reversible sleeve featuring original and newly commissioned artwork by Sam Smith
- Limited edition booklet featuring new writing by Jasper Sharp and an archival review of the film
- Limited edition of 3000 copies, presented in full-height Scanavo packaging with removable OBI strip leaving packaging free of certificates and markings
For more information, head to the official Radiance Films A Tale of Sorrow and Sadness webpage.
To purchase, head to the official MVD Entertainment Group A Tale of Sorrow and Sadness webpage.
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Categories: Home Release, Home Video, Recommendation, Reviews
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