Review: Tornado

Director:  John Maclean

Stars:  Kōki,, Tim Roth, Takehiro Hira

A good number of influences abound in John Maclean’s rather belated sophomore feature (it’s been 10 years since the okay-ish Slow West), which draws us in with the rather appealing proposition of a samurai revenge saga set in the Scottish wilds circa 1790. But for all the borrowed exoticism of Maclean’s Spaghetti Western-inflected tale of stolen gold and swordplay, it’s a pair of American filmmakers that it feels indebted to the most. With twin sacks of ill-gotten riches at the centre of his spry little tale, and plenty of fools in his band of unkempt mercenaries, there’s more than a touch of the Coen Brothers here. But the Coens as Xeroxed by Noah Hawley for FX as opposed to the Oscar winning genuine articles themselves.

The titular Tornado (Koki, (the comma is part of the name)) ekes out a living on the road with her father Fujin (Takehiro Hira), performing a grisly puppet show telling tales of the orient. We first encounter her fleeing from ruthless thief Sugar (Tim Roth) and his ragtag pack of light-fingered hooligans. Seemingly indebted to a small boy (Nathan Malone), Tornado takes refuge in a nearby manor house as Sugar’s men close-in. It appears as though the ringleader’s son, Little Sugar (Jack Lowden), is a little more clued-in than the rest of this dubious squad, but Tornado might be more than a match for all of them. An extended flashback to earlier that day then bring us up to speed on the circumstances behind this chase, and a predictable pivot point that turns this into brisk tale of retribution.

At a lean 91 minutes there’s a fair old clip to Tornado; swift as it’s namesake, but it’s also light on fleshed-out character or anything significant in the way of a greater subtext. The machinations of the relatively light plot are all we have, so its up to the players and Maclean to keep us engaged in the moment. Credit where it’s due, it’s a good effort on those fronts. Kōki, is a commanding young player who makes a strong impact here, and there’s a peppering of interesting, seasoned actors in the peripheries (including a riveting but under-utilised Joanna Whalley). Roth is in rather robotic tough-guy mode, but he matches the efficiency of Maclean’s approach. Frequent Yorgos Lanthimos and Andrea Arnold DP Robbie Ryan is perhaps the MVP behind camera, ensuring that Tornado is lensed handsomely throughout, even as the picture pointedly turns to the likes of Sergio Leone or Kenji Misumi for guidance.

The puppet show turns out to be what passes for the soul of the picture, evoking the spirit of cinema a century before its invention, even acknowledging our appetite for the schlocky, anticipating the B-movie. Maclean’s film lives unashamedly in the thrall of such pictures, and if nothing else Tornado tips us to which Arrow Video and Criterion Collection boxsets are lining the filmmaker’s shelves. In another era, in another culture, one might imagine Tornado just one in a serial of films about its stout-hearted protagonist, perhaps from Toei or TOHO Studios. Maybe that’s how Maclean himself likes to think of it.

But it’s also tough to imagine such a series existing with Tornado as its jumping off point because there’s little emotional investment here. Maclean’s economy is admirable to an extent, but he doesn’t quite give us enough. There’s some neat symmetry in the storytelling (fathers who damn themselves; two bags of gold that mirror two fresh burial mounds), but precious little beneath the surface. The same criticism can be levelled at the Coen Brothers’ work, and has been. Their naysayers seeing little more than pastiche. But they armour their tales with humour and, frankly, a level of craft beyond anything accomplished here.

What’s on offer is absolutely fine for the hour and a half it asks of you, but once it’s blown itself out there’s precious little evidence it was there at all. The ground undisturbed.