Harakiri

An examination of the deep-rooted tradition of the samurai, Harakiri follows the poverty-stricken ronin Hanshiro Tsugumo as he ventures to the House of Iyi to commit harakiri—an honorable suicide by disembowelment. Yet as Tsugumo recounts his story to the Counselor of the House, it becomes clear that he is not all he claims to be. Though he outwardly embraces the samurai way, his faith in that tradition has been irrevocably shaken.

Harakiri masterfully combines stellar performances, breathtaking cinematography, and a complex yet compelling narrative into a work of art that, at its core, questions society’s blind reliance on tradition. Despite its technical brilliance, the film’s greatest achievement lies in its ability to provoke reflection on the role of ritual in our lives. While modern cultural traditions rarely reach the extremity of ritual suicide, the film encourages thoughtful viewers to consider how tradition shapes—and sometimes constrains—their worldview.

The plot begins when an impoverished ronin approaches a renowned samurai house, requesting to end his life on their grounds. Moved by his apparent resolve, the house offers him employment and financial aid. Word of this generosity spreads, and other ronin attempt to exploit the samurai houses by making the same request, hoping for similar offers of assistance. In these precursory events, the film first exposes the absurdity of the tradition—not only that harakiri is encouraged, but that it must be performed under highly specific conditions, at designated houses. Such rigid formalism invites both exploitation and doubt in the sanctity of samurai culture, allowing hundreds of desperate ronin to profit from institutions supposedly built on honor.

But if these events seem to warrant sympathy for the great houses of Japan, Harakiri quickly dispels it. Upon discovering the ronins’ true motives, many houses do not simply turn them away—they ruthlessly enforce the letter of the samurai code, compelling unwilling men to carry out their suicidal declarations. All the while, they publicly praise these coerced acts as displays of “resolve” and “commitment” to honor. These supposed icons of nobility weaponize tradition, using it as a convenient excuse to exert power and deliver fatal punishment.

It is precisely this hollow valorization of tradition that pushes Tsugumo to confront the House of Iyi. After his son-in-law was forced to commit suicide while desperately seeking money to save his dying son, Tsugumo approaches the same house in the same way—as a final act of defiance. While the counselors of Iyi hope to entrap another dishonest ronin, Tsugumo instead recounts his son-in-law’s tragic story, laying bare the cruelty and blind devotion to ritual that led to his death.

In this way, Harakiri offers a rare perspective: a samurai film that dares to critique the samurai code itself. Perhaps some dramatic ideals are necessary to preserve a philosophy, but the film argues that blind adherence to tradition—valuing it for its mere existence rather than its merit—is as senseless as forcing a man to die for appearances. In a world full of complexity and nuance, rigid “rules for life” ignore the individuality and richness of our personal experiences.