Sanctuary

The gods can be quite cruel. For our unnamed protagonist, it’s as if unseen forces, far greater than himself, have conspired against him. What he wants is a simple, peaceful life; however, he’s forced to watch as that door is slammed shut by a vicious twist of fate. Having no other option, our protagonist turns to organized crime. After he acknowledges the situation he’s in, he resolves to make the most of it. His efforts, though, are rooted in humble beginnings. At first, our protagonist is little more than a performer of menial tasks, an errand boy for his superiors, and a victim to their whims. However, this doesn’t last for long. By relying on a combination of confidence, ruthlessness, and ingenuity, our unnamed protagonist ascends the ranks, earning the higher-up’s trust, as his sights turn towards the top of the food chain…

Stories like this fascinate me. Mobster movies represent a darker rendition of the typical “rags to riches” tale, where sentimental value is replaced by realism. They’re like most underdog-driven narratives, but with characters you don’t always cheer for and ideas you don’t always support. This is the genre that Sanctuary, Studio Pastel’s 1996 film, finds itself in. Almost from the start, Sanctuary tries separating itself from the others through its heavily political focus. As you would expect, the film chronicles a mobster’s rise to power but it also connects this to a larger plotline concerning favoritism. Sanctuary intends to criticize a system that only enables celebrities, bureaucrats, and children of older politicians to advance. Because he despises this practice, the film’s protagonist wants to undermine this system through his mobster influence. Along the way, Sanctuary forms several parallels between the political sphere and the criminal underworld, arguing that they’re equally corrupt.

Unfortunately, these ideas are overshadowed by a director whose vision is trapped inside mobster movie cliches. Characters lounge around and reminisce about old times under shimmering streetlights. Plot details are discussed inside lavish nightclubs and high-rise skyscrapers. Saxophones, pianos, and bass guitars supply the score for a string of sex scenes. The end result is a film that aspires for social commentary but fails to offer anything beyond the glitz and glamour and guns.

Actually, you can ignore the guns. Sure, they’re waved around quite a bit but the guns are never used. At no point in this film is anyone in any real danger, especially not Hojo. As Sanctuary’s protagonist, he provides cigarettes and a comb-over to his role but it’s his unwavering confidence that truly defines him. Hojo’s confidence is portrayed to ridiculous extremes. In a crucial scene during Sanctuary’s latter half, an employer of his requires him to partake in a test of loyalty. As part of the test, Hojo has to stab his hand with a knife without flinching. He not only pulls off the stunt but he also does so with a self-assured smirk; it’s obvious that even this test has failed to penetrate his air of confidence. The scene serves as a microcosm of Hojo’s overall character. No matter what obstacle he faces (whether it’s the police, the corrupt politicians, his deranged older brother, or the mob boss), he not only overcomes them but he’s also completely unfazed by the threat they pose. Because Sanctuary is unwilling to present Hojo with a legitimate challenge, what results is a series of conflicts that aren’t just unengaging but predictable as well. By itself, the lack of dramatic tension is damning material. However, this is merely part of a larger issue with the film.

Earlier, I described the mobster’s rise to power and why I’m fascinated by it. However, there’s a concept that I’m far more interested in: the fall from grace. Our unnamed protagonist has arrived at the summit but he won’t be there for long. Thanks to fame’s trappings, the same traits that fueled his success have changed for the worse. His confidence morphs into arrogance. His ruthlessness swells to surreal heights. And his ingenuity evaporates. Eventually, after burning enough bridges, our protagonist is reduced to nothing. A journey to the mountaintop can be entertaining; however, it’s falling from that same mountaintop that really resonates with me. Personally speaking, it’s captivating to watch someone claw and scratch to attain the finer things in life (fancy suits, fast cars, and high-priced cigars), only for it all to instantly vanish. Ultimately, the mobster’s fall from grace serves as a cautionary tale for members of organized crime; what it does is present the consequences of the lifestyle they lead.

With Sanctuary, though, there is no fall from grace. Matter of fact, there aren’t any consequences here whatsoever.

Take Sakura Shuichi, for instance. He’s a sleazy, sewer-dwelling rat that forces himself upon random women. He’s also a politician affiliated with the National Diet of Japan. So, naturally, when Hojo begins blackmailing Sakura with photos of his misdeeds, he is warned by the mob boss himself to stop. Hojo, however, insists on playing with fire. He tosses log after log into the flames, delighting in the disaster he’s made, before eventually deciding to pour a gallon of oil into the mix. Instead of being disciplined for his reckless behavior, Hojo receives a promotion. For another example, you can refer to Kyoko Ishihara, the police force’s superintendent. When she tries to infiltrate a mobster-owned casino, Kyoko is quickly discovered by Hojo, who drugs and attacks her. He suffers no repercussions from this; in fact, through a mind-boggling turn of events, Kyoko ends up helping him resist a group of kidnappers. Looking at the bigger picture, Hojo decides to become a mobster (or, in this case, a yakuza) and is never faced with the consequences of his choice. When you combine this with the lack of dramatic tension, what remains is a protagonist whose plot armor is powerful enough to neutralize anything, even the after-effects of his own actions.

By glamorizing its subject matter, Sanctuary falls victim to the same aches and pains that plagues every other dime-a-dozen mobster flick. It constructs a narrative of watered-down stereotypes, forgettable encounters, and incomplete character arcs. This film has no real identity, nothing that separates it from the herd, which is exactly why I’d recommend it to fans of the genre. If you happen to enjoy mobster movies, Sanctuary provides pretty much everything you’d expect from its category. Thing is, there was a spark of potential here. At first, the film wanted to take risks with its material but Sanctuary ends up playing it safe.