Director – John Maclean – 2025 – UK – Cert. 15 – 91m
*****
A bereaved Japanese in Britain in 1790 must prove herself as a samurai to survive – unique coming of age historical drama is out in UK cinemas on Friday, June 13th
A 16-year-old Japanese girl (Koki) flees over the moors, through the wood, towards a large mansion. So does a young boy. Their male pursuers walk relentlessly in her direction, but they haven’t seen her. Woe betide her if they do, because their leader (Tim Roth from Pulp Fiction, 1994; Reservoir Dogs, 1992, both Quentin Tarantino; The Hit, Stephen Frears, 1984) addresses one of their number by name then slits his throat. She gets to the house, opens the door, the sudden draught inside causing papers to blow around, but she shuts it pretty fast, sensing the woman inside. A little later, she opens the door, gingerly enters the house. A hiding place, but she must be sure the occupants don’t spot her.
No such hesitancy for the gang following her; they step inside confidently as if they own the place, pushing over and kicking the male occupant while he’s down. They spread out, and a younger man in the party, who we will later come to know as Little Sugar (Jack Lowden frrom Benediction, Terence Davies, 2021; Dunkirk, Christopher Nolan, 2017; ’71, Yann Demange, 2014), son of the gang leader Sugarman (Roth), finds her at the end of an upper corridor whose floor has given way beneath another gang member. He isn’t going to tell Sugarman, though, and she gets away when Sugar summons him to outside to instruct other gang members where next to look for the girl next. Against Little Sugar’s wishes, he is paired with the ruthless Kitten (Rory McCann from Slow West, John Maclean, 2015; Hot Fuzz, Edgar Wright, 2007). Sugarman is the last to leave, and he has a nasty stomach wound from earlier.
The Japanese girl works out of a travelling (horse-drawn) theatre with her father (Takehiro Hira from Rumours, Guy Maddin, Evan Johnson, Galen Johnson, 2024; Shogun TV series, 2024); together, they perform marionette puppet shows about samurai. These are so absorbing that when the gang stop to watch, the gang member charged with looking after the bags of money from a job due to be split equally between the members, as per Sugarman’s instruction, doesn’t notice the young boy making off with it. The girl gets the money off him and hides it, first in the horse-pulled theatre wagon and later burying it in a hole in the woods. Her father tells the young woman she’s not ready to use her sword in combat. During a confrontation between Sugarman’s gang, looking for their loot, and her father, the latter is killed by an arrow, but not before he’s wounded Sugar in the stomach with his blade.
That sets up everything that is to follow. Most of the violence is carried out using swords or knives, or in the case of the gang’s archer as bow and arrow, although one gang member uses a flintlock pistol; this is 1790 and that period when only a few people had firearms. This lends a compelling dynamic to the action, which follows the model of the samurai movie – very little violence until sporadic encounters occur between enemies, when the sword-inflicted bloodletting is sudden, swift and graphic. Scots director Maclean has immersed himself in period Japanese actioners, and has learned his lessons well: this is a British film, but would hold its own against any number of Japanese samurai movies.
Some of the bloodletting is foreshadowed by the samurai puppetry of the early scenes (including a brief sequence where father and daughter play combatants, his body spewing out a ream of red cloth, an effective theatrical stand in for blood, as he is slain in their play). This feels peculiarly British, with our stage and literary traditions, which all too often weigh down our films, but here serve to add something special.
As well as its gang and Japanese, the film also features a travelling circus troupe presided over by an enigmatic (if unrecognisable) Joanne Whalley (from A TV Dante, Peter Greenaway, TV series, 1990; Scandal, Michael Caton-Jones, 1989; The Singing Detective, Jon Amiel, 1986; Edge of Darkness, Martin Campbell, 1985).
Further mention should go to Jed Kurzel for an exemplary score that raises the film up to a whole other level. As I watched, and listened, I was reminded of the late John Barry and both the urgency and the additional (aural) texture he brought to certain historical films or scenes he scored – not a claim I would make lightly.
Its UK distributor is Lionsgate, and Tornado makes for a fascinating comparison with that company’s John Wick spin-off Ballerina (Len Wiseman, 2025)made on a much larger budget, set in contemporary cities and towns and cramming as many complex stunts into its running length as it can. Tornado is much sparser, much more interested in period and landscape – and yet, in its own, undeniably smaller scale terms, just as satisfying.
Maclean’s small ensemble cast are well-chosen and allow him to craft a series of memorable characters. Koki as the eponymous force of nature is particularly good. “Tornado – remember my name,” she says, and we will. Especially if at some point Maclean and co-writer Kate Leys feel they have another story to tell with this character. For now, though, this one story will do just fine.
Tornado is out in cinemas in the UK on Friday, June 13th.
Trailer: