Literature and cinema created the legend of the samurai, that mythical warrior who, katana in hand, rises as an almost supernatural hero. In the popular imagination, his bushido code, honor, and bravery seem unmatched by anything earthly. Harakiri (1962), directed by Masaki Kobayashi, shatters that myth with the same force a samurai sword cuts through flesh. Far from glorifying the Japanese warrior, Kobayashi cloaks him in tragedy to deliver a sharp critique of the moral code tradition has long exalted.

Harakiri sets its story in 17th-century Japan, during the Edo period (1603–1868), when the Tokugawa shogunate ruled. With no major clan wars and the country entering a long phase of political stability and peace, samurai were no longer needed as active warriors. Some became administrators living in their lords’ castles, while others turned into ronin, wandering masterless and stripped of any purpose that once gave meaning to their lives.

Hanshiro Tsugumo (Tatsuya Nakadai) is one such ronin who arrives at the House of Iyi requesting permission to commit harakiri. This ceremonial act, in which a samurai takes his own life to preserve honor, lies at the heart of the ethical dilemma and social criticism proposed by Kobayashi. Through a series of flashbacks, we gradually come to know the enigmatic Tsugumo. With each return to the past, the film grows denser, shedding light on the reasons behind his grim decision while revealing the true motives that brought him to the Iyi residence.

The Honor of Harakiri?

With exceptional cinematography built on close-ups, detailed framing, and daring compositions, Harakiri draws us into the protagonist’s mind and sustains relentless tension from beginning to end. Kobayashi uses every line of dialogue and every sequence to articulate his critique of feudal Japan and the era of the samurai. He offers a precise reflection on clans obsessed with ceremonial honor, emphasizing a system that prefers preserving appearances over cultivating authentic values, a system that looks down on the impoverished samurai who no longer serve a practical function.

One of the film’s greatest strengths is its slow-burning narrative structure. It confronts us on a psychological level, forcing us to grapple with difficult moral decisions. During its first two acts, we witness an ideological battle that steadily escalates until it explodes with savage force in the final act. Violence takes on a poetic tone as the tormented samurai seeks retribution, destroying not only the physical castle but also the moral fortress represented by a code of honor that proves to be nothing more than a ritual of feudal hypocrisy.

In Harakiri, Kobayashi ruthlessly dismantles the notion of honor and the glorified image of seppuku, revealing a more human, brutal, and heartbreaking reality. The samurai is humanized, and the dark side of the myth is finally exposed.