The 11 Best Akira Kurosawa Movies, Ranked

Kurosawa always had a gift for filming the organic world. Rolling hills, fields of grass, and vast skies always looked so expansive and stunning in his hands. "Rashomon" begins with protagonists Kikori (Takashi Shimura) and Tabi (Minoru Chiaki) sitting inside a dilapidated building while a deluge of rain comes down outside. The presence of rain is captured in a striking manner that conveys how these two characters are overwhelmed by everything around them — including the vastly different tales they've just heard about a samurai's murder and the rape of his wife. 

These stories are the crux of "Rashomon" and prove why this movie has remained so influential. Any movie that opts to tell one story from multiple perspectives will forever be compared to "Rashomon." Even after so many imitators, the way "Rashomon" uses varying accounts of past events to reflect the individual personalities of the narrators is still impressive. Screenwriters Kurosawa and Shinobu Hashimoto (adapting elements from a pair of short stories by Ryunosuke Akutagawa) use this narrative structure to pursue larger ideas related to subjectivity and the dishonesty of humanity that so many of the film's imitators never attempt to explore. The cast excels in depicting constantly shifting versions of their characters, ensuring "Rashomon" lives up to its harrowing, rain-drenched opening sequence.

The specter of nuclear anxiety loomed large over many of Akira Kurosawa's films. Rarely was this more apparent than in his 1955 film, "I Live in Fear." This film centers on Kiichi Nakajima (Toshirô Mifune), a man whose life is defined by fear of nuclear annihilation. His plans to prepare for such an event escalate from creating an elaborate bomb shelter to figuring out a way to get to Brazil, a country he believes will be the only place immune from the horrors of atomic war.

In the vein of other Kurosawa classics like "Drunken Angel," "I Live in Fear" has the filmmaker contemplating the best way to navigate an uncertain future. The characters of "I Live in Fear" embody differing approaches to tackling what's to come. Such approaches generally boil down to either ignoring potential horrors or becoming consumed by them. The latter mindset is beautifully captured in Mifune's lead performance, which hauntingly portrays Nakajima losing more and more of himself to his anxiety. Although it was released a decade after the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, "I Live in Fear" is a harrowing demonstration of how the horrors of the past can overwhelm the present.

Toshirô Mifune reprises his role from "Yojimbo" to headline the appropriately titled "Sanjuro." Fortunately, the film doesn't attempt to turn "Yojimbo" into the first piece of an epic saga but aims to deliver another satisfying standalone samurai adventure. Here, Sanjuro gradually becomes swept up in helping a group of nine men fight back against a corrupt superintendent. These ramshackle warriors are far from experts in combat, but the presence of Sanjuro may give them more than a fighting chance against their enemies.

"Sanjuro" is no retread of "Yojimbo," but it does continue to emphasize the intellectual power of the Sanjuro character. Sanjuro has brains to spare and can do things like get his enemies to unwittingly signal his allies to attack, even if he's (literally) all tied up. Sanjuro's cleverness is matched by the movie he inhabits. "Sanjuro" also demonstrates sharpness in depicting the realistically ragged rapport between the samurai and the collection of plucky people he's taken under his wing. Taking on an enormous task doesn't automatically turn them all into friends, and that kind of complexity makes the story extra engaging. Bringing back Sanjuro for further adventures could've resulted in diminishing returns. However, "Sanjuro" is one of the all-time great sequels that's entertaining even if you haven't seen its predecessor.

"Yojimbo" begins with a ronin named Sanjuro (Toshirô Mifune) walking into a small town. This is no ordinary town, though, as it's controlled by a pair of crime syndicates. These opposing forces are terrorizing the innocent townspeople, inspiring the crusty Sanjuro to step in and help. Rather than be a superhero who springs in to make everything right instantly, Sanjuro plays the long game. What follows is a series of intellectual exercises that pit the two organizations against each other.

While "Yojimbo" revolves around Sanjuro using his intellect for games of deception, elegant simplicity is the name of the game. Watching Sanjuro constantly one-up crooks without these gangsters realizing they're being played is immensely enjoyable, especially when such sequences incorporate delightful instances of dark humor. The whole enterprise is further enhanced by the presence of Mifune in the lead role. Mifune lends an incredible amount of believability to the samurai who's lived a life rich with experience and difficulty. We don't need to see a prologue to understand the events that have shaped Sanjuro or the experiences that have given him the knowledge to take down the crime syndicates. Mifune communicates decades of experience through his physicality. This lead performance alone makes it clear why "Yojimbo" has endured as one of Kurosawa's most celebrated films.

Trying to write something new about "Seven Samurai" feels like as much of a fool's errand as finding a bad performance from Takashi Shimura. You don't need me to tell you that "Seven Samurai" is a special and impactful movie. Just look at how its influence has inspired everything from "The Magnificent Seven" to "The Mandalorian." The entire landscape of global cinema has been shaped by this film about seven men who must train a village to fight back against a horde of bandits. Yet, even with its pop culture legacy, it's still worth talking about the ways "Seven Samurai" excels.

The blocking and staging of "Seven Samurai" are extraordinary. With so many characters to juggle, it could've been easy for the film's leads to be derivative of one another or get lost in the shuffle of the narrative, but in any shot in which they're all together, Kurosawa's blocking speaks volumes to the distinct personalities of the individual characters. The long runtime is a boon to getting to know each member of the ensemble cast. Those climactic deaths of key characters wouldn't work as well as they do if we weren't invested in these people. "Seven Samurai" still stands as a towering achievement in filmmaking.

To be the greatest movie ever directed by Akira Kurosawa also means being one of the greatest movies ever made. Such words may seem like hollow hyperbole, but in the case of "Ikiru," it's appropriate. Released in 1952, "Ikiru" follows Mr. Watanabe (Takashi Shimura), an older man who has few meaningful connections in his life. From the beginning, "Ikiru" ensnares the viewer emotionally by depicting Watanabe's life as relatable. Obligations and responsibilities come first as all of life's little nuances get drowned out by the noise of these commitments.

Watanabe's stagnant life is thrust into chaos when he learns that he has stomach cancer and will die within a year. From there, "Ikiru" uses its relatable set-up as a springboard for a fascinating exploration of what defines a fulfilling life. Kurosawa maintains a sense of realism by refusing to shy away from the brutal aspects of existence. The cognizance of all of life's heartbreak makes the tiny victories and poignant moments in the story all the more impactful. Meanwhile, Shimura, always a welcome presence in Kurosawa's work, delivers the performance of his career as "Ikiru's" protagonist. Just one haunted stare from this man can crush your heart and convey decades of anguish. "Ikiru" is a standout in even Kurosawa's stacked filmography.