Unemployed rent-a-cop/hitman wanders into town, pits two gangs against one another, comes out on top-ish. The Japanese Man with no Name.

This is a gory affair, as evidenced by earlier shots of a dog carrying a human hand. Swordfighting extraordinaire ensues, but our protagonist feels more like the player character on a RPG, always moving back and forth between the factions.

Curry favour with the dimwitted moron, who happens to be the son of the boss, is always a winning move.

The other son with the revolver is smarter, and learns fast too. He fails by overplaying his hand and handing the protagonist his near-death experience. That leads to a strategic knife throw to the tendons, neutralising the gun. Bushido conspires with the universe in the last scene.

Another highlight for our Daimyo-less is stage an attack on a local mother, used as cumdumpster by the elite, as a ruse to letting that family escape their living hell. It’s their thank you letter that betrays him for good. Honor before reason.

One of the gangs is headed by the woman, hiding beneath the veneer of her husband, a mere patsy. That gang also runs a “nunnery” (a lupanar), something that our protagonist tastefully declines.


This is my place for ramblings about sequences of images that exploit the human visual limitation know as persistence of vision.

Ephemera of Vision