It was a time of extremes; it was a time of international turmoil. These two separate and equally bland descriptions of a society are can be used about every other ten years in American history—and, to a less specific sense, world history. Every example is just another tally in the victory column for people arguing history does not repeat itself so much as it acts as a swinging pendulum, exerting too little energy in one direction that it can not sustain itself in a circle and must swing back with equal vigor and passion. While this is a weary statement on unimaginative scholars, it is also justification for the timeless appeal of two plot-similar, yet thematically-contrasting, films: “Seven Samurai” and “The Magnificent Seven”.
In the early 1950s, Japanese director Akira Kurosawa was researching about samurais for some movie he didn’t quite have a plot for yet. This took a bit more work than modern investigations for two reasons. One: no Internet. Two: the popular book “Bushido” had been released about 50 years earlier and was most people’s sole understanding of ancient Japan and samurais. “Bushido,” (‘way of the warrior’), though, had the historical accuracy and insipid moralizing of an Oliver Stone movie. In fact, “Bushido” was written in Philadelphia by a Japanese immigrant—who wrote the book in English, as it was only intended to prove Japan had a history of honor comparable to Western ideas of chivalry. Later it was translated to Japanese, positive allusions to Christianity and all. The text was then used by the Japanese government, on the eve of WWII, to teach its population about state loyalty and self-sacrifice. This is all a long ways to go to say Kurosawa didn’t care so much to continue this idolization of robotic samurai (not to be confused with the samurai robots in “RoboCop 3”).
Wait...was "Robocop 3" a commentary on the automotive industry?
Kurosawa discovered samurai, at points in their relatively brief history, defended farmers in exchange for food and a bed. All of a sudden Kurosawa had heroes that were physically dirty and starving, yet had skills, dignity and mobility. Seeking to unite the Japanese population of the 1950s under a new history of camaraderie, Kurosawa made a dynamic film with frames packed like sardine cans and a narrative about samurai finding meaning in their life, farmers finding faith in strangers and everybody finding strength in themselves. The fluidity of a social ladder also inspired respect among the characters, albeit after originally inspiring mockery and scorn. The character Kikuchiyo acts as a samurai though from a peasant upbringing and KatsushirÅ, a young warrior from an aristocrat family, befriends (and befriends-with-benefits!) a local village girl.
About five years later, American John Sturges, got the idea that cowboys are kind of like America’s samurais—including the drinking and bar-fights—and so lifted the story, almost character-for-character, yet trims about an hour of run time. Reportedly, Kurosawa was a big fan of “The Magnificent Seven,” which doesn’t make entire sense, as he became distressed when another of his famous samurai films, “Yojimbo” was remade in Italy four years later under the name, “A Fistful of Dollars.” Perhaps Kurosawa was just less giving to the Italians’ Western, as he sued them—delaying the release of the Clint Eastwood vehicle in America for three years. Eventually Kurosawa settled for 15% of the film’s international gross (making him absolutely rich). Surprisingly, Kurosawa later admitted he lifted the “Yojimbo” story from an American movie called “The Glass Key,”—which stole its story from a 1920s novel called “Red Harvest,” which was, most incredibly of all, a Western.
“The Magnificent Seven,” unlike its inspiration, does little to blur the differences of the American gunfighters and the Mexican peasants they are protecting from Mexican bandits. Because the protecting forces are foreigners, this becomes less about acceptance and more about global responsibility. Yes, in both films, several of the underpaid mercenaries (or bodyguards) die nobly, but they are also fighting for their own sense of self-worth. They are fighting because it’s all they know, and they just want to know how good they are. Fortunately, this is a time before fame, so the characters are not seeking greatness so much as they are seeking self-discovery.
Conversely, Steven McQueen was very much seeking stardom and so is always playing with his hat, gun, hands or “gun.” This become distracting when juxtaposed with the stoic, even kingly, Yul Brynner. As for the socio-political grounds, "The Magnificent Seven" was made more as a modest reflection on international intervention in general, as America was 7 years out of Korea and still 4 years away from any real Vietnam conflict.
The quiet and personal motivations (pride, duty, revenge, glory, wealth, survival, etc.) for the characters in both films do wonders with the scope. They give the audience--if not whole-hearted sympathy--at least some understanding to the characters as people; for people are rarely motivated as one mind, but rather our cooperation with one another is generally just coincidental--an occasional by-product of self-preservation. The heroes in both movies don't bother rationalizing their selfishness and masking it as generosity; it is the villains who try to convince others (and the audience) that their actions are for a great, collective, good.
The motives place the stories in a historic time that feels real because the sentiments (time of social extremes, time of international conflict, masking selfishness, etc.) are so often regurgitated—in society, not films. Fortunately, these sentiments do drift away every ten years or so, making them twice as specific as any film that solely pushes the oh-so-controversial ideologies of “fighting evil” or “being true to oneself.” Furthermore, as the motives for the heroes are personal and not ideological, the films are not pitted in a temporally alienating setting or have socially alienating themes (i.e. “The Alamo”—wherein John Wayne fights for libertarianism).
These are a pair of films that people know as classics because their stories have been parodied or paid tribute by Pixar ("A Bug's Life"), and less respectable organizations. Unfortunately, such indifferent acceptance teaches the present and future filmmakers and audiences nothing. Modern films, and other mediums of art/entertainment, are scrutinized and dissected—in an impossible ambition to be the first to correctly label a classic as such, whereas “classics” are just regarded as obviously great.
When everybody seems to gain something from bashing Hollywood, however intangible, it’s relevant to note worthy remakes. Worthy in that they continue the discussion of society and ourselves; and worthy in that they provide brief entertainment for, and even escape from, society and ourselves.
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