At the time of the release of his ‘Underworld Beauty’ in 1958, Seijun Suzuki had already been, to all intents and purposes, a director employed by Nikkatsu for a couple of seasons (his debut dates back to 1956); this role, which we could define as a ‘ alimentary’ one, saw him engaged (or rather, obliged!?) in the production of at least three/four films a year (it seems to be a sort of Rainer Werner Fassbinder ante litteram...), given the enormous demand for movies of the period.

In order to satisfy the tastes of the new film-addicted generation, Nikkatsu had embarked on a rich production of action/noir/gangster-style movies, inspired by American cinema, where often the stylistic/narrative themes of US-made genre films were adapted to the typical Japanese style and situations, so as to achieve a strong impact on the local audience (who got the message) with minimal expenses.

These were in fact low-budget works, perhaps of little artistic importance but perfectly functional at the box office and capable of bringing out a decidedly interesting generation of actors; To already established leading names such as Ishihara Yujiro and Akira Kobayashi, were soon to be added other performers such as the very ill-fated Keiichiro Akagi (who died at only 21 years of age, a sort of Japanese James Dean), Wada Koji and above all, Shishido Jo, who thanks to his connection with Suzuki himself succeeded in increasing his fame even outside the national borders.

In the midst of such a considerable amount of productions (in 1958 alone, Motion Picture Association of Japan, Inc. refers to 504 domestic productions and 169 imported films!), it was rather complex even for film critics to follow all the productions in circulation, all the more so as these genre films were often hastily classified as ‘B’ productions; but it was clear that in the midst of perhaps repetitive or easily forgettable films, it was plausible to find the classic ‘hidden gem’.

It is therefore interesting to observe how, in the context of a narrative structure that is still rather linear, at least at the outset, decidedly indebted to gangster movies made in the U.S.A. (Suzuki, by his own admission, has always been a lover of ‘Hard Boiled’ novels), ‘Underworld Beauty’ is characterised as a product of a high level, capable of also providing ‘in nuce’ several characteristic elements of our master's inimitable style:

Released from jail after three years following a robbery, the gangster Miyamoto recoups the diamonds from the crime, conveniently hidden, with the aim of reselling them to help his comrade Mihara, who was badly injured on that occasion, and his sister Akiko, a young woman with no prospects; his boss Oyane arranges an exchange with buyers, but the deal is scuppered when mysterious masked armed bandits appear; Mihara, in an extreme gesture of desperation, swallows the diamonds, but then falls from the roof of the building, dying of his injuries. From that moment on, a war breaks out between Miyamoto and his former accomplices to recover the precious stones, with the ex-con also working to protect the young and restless Akiko...

The starting premise is decidedly interesting and from the very beginning, the style appears clear, immediate, without frills or wasted time; Miyamoto -played by the mature and impassive Michitaro Mizushima- is a sort of lone wolf (exemplary synthesis of Chris D. in his fundamental ‘Outlaw Masters Of Japanese Film’) who, after having paid his debt to justice, feels obliged to ‘compensate’ his friend Mihara, who has suffered the highest price for the heist; from the very first lines, the ex-con appears to us as a sort of ‘modern Ronin’, alone against everyone, with few words and a lot of concreteness, an attitude that immediately leads him to set himself against his ex-criminal companions (and obviously the boss) who just don't want to give up the precious booty.

Curiously enough, in this ‘Underworld’ of criminals (real or could-be) where greed and lust for wealth, mixed with explicit primordial pulsions, seem to be the only values sought after, it is Miyamoto who comes out best of all, guided by an unshakeable ethic, nourished also by a double sense of guilt (first the incident and then the death of his friend) that leads him to risk himself in order to save Akiko (Mari Shiraki, perfect and always abundantly undressed), who, for her part, does not really represent the model of the ideal woman, but rather, with her youthful arrogance, sexual frenzy and unregulated life (she bullies and takes advantage of schoolgirls), she seems like a character straight out of the novels (and movies) of the Taiyozoku universe (‘Sun Tribe’), coming to characterise a sort of prototype of the more classic ‘Dark Lady’

If for Eric Von Stroheim money is always at the origin of all evil, here it is diamonds (3, in number... ) that unleash the most belligerent instincts of the characters who, in order not to renounce their earnings, are ready to do anything to recover the precious stones, triggering a series of situations that allow the skilful Suzuki to show his already characteristic technical skill, as well as his ability to synthesise (editing cuts, close-ups, sudden changes of camera angle), mixed with a good dose of his classic black humour that will distinguish him throughout his career; Emblematic from this point of view is the entire sequence with the mannequins as key figures, of great effectiveness and even amused mockery.

As far as the purely stylistic aspect is concerned, Suzuki works for the first time in widescreen, using a remarkable B/W that tends to emphasise the grey scales, with a result that is, to say the least, ‘brilliant’ (it is really appropriate to say so...) that amplifies, especially in the night sets (the majority), in an excellent play of light and shadows with an expressionistic cut, the ‘hard boiled’ dimension of the story; All this with a skilful and unconventional use of locations, including nightclubs, bars, rock ‘n’ roll, artists' studios and morgue rooms, as well as the boss's Turkish bath where the “incandescent” finale is set (in every sense of the word...), filmed with the master's decidedly distinctive trait, with clearly unconventional doses of sadism, explosions of violence and masterful shots even using a crane...

In his mature interviews, Suzuki will even refer to ‘Youth Of The Beast’ (1963) as the first film that can be considered entirely of his own from the point of view of narrative and directorial originality, but it is clear that already from this ‘Underworld Beauty’ (but in some points even from ‘8 Hours of Terror’ [1957]) the director began to set up that operation of ‘inner demolition’ of the genre which was to become his distinctive trademark, but which was to lead him, in 1967, to be sacked from the same film company for irremediable ‘artistic differences’ following his most famous picture, ‘Branded To Kill’.
9/10