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The mistral is the wind that blows from the Northwest; on my island, it reigns supreme. "The main of all winds," many say, who knows if it's true. Certainly, when it blows and you're in the city, you curse it, but everything changes if you're facing the sea: then you find it grand, overpowering, mighty, and devastating. The sea is in its power and can only comply with its gusts with impressive waves that chase each other and produce so much foam it seems to you a gigantic laundry, because afterward, at the end of the mistral spell, the beach cleans up and so does the water...
This is what "47 Ronin" conveyed to me when I watched it again. Critically panned, accepted by the audience, and defined as "Hollywoodian" in the most pejorative sense of the term. The story, drawn from a true event, tells the tale of the half-breed Kai (Keanu Reeves) and a world of demons surrounding them after the death of their master Asano: he and the ronin, now masterless. Perhaps it is true that the American 47 Ronin neither manages nor wants to depict the reality of the facts, but instead uses them to create a fantastical story: telling of those samurai seeking vengeance for their master, knowing full well the outcome can only be their death, makes the atmosphere loaded with emotional tension and the scenes more real than the graphics intend. Kai's love story with Asano's beautiful daughter, true or not, softens your heart (the ladies will understand!).
No spoiler is allowed: the film should be seen only because someone, perhaps clumsily, tried to depict the highest national values of Japan, and Japan celebrates its true heroes on December 14th every year with the Gishi-sai no cha, a tea ceremony.
The final scene, choral, is a very well-executed postcard. Daisuki
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