Some critics of Seijun Suzuki tend to bifurcate his career into two largely disparate chapters, downplaying his mid-1950s Nikkatsu assignments in favor of his later transcendental visions. Still, "Eight Hours of Fear" is an exceptional work inspired by John Ford's "Stagecoach" with a Hitchcockian flavor, especially the dazzling opening sequence in a train station where a crowd of hapless travelers are stranded. Some opt for a harrowing detour in a sketchy bus through treacherous backroads that would make a unit production manager blanche. Given the movie's relatively short running time and some coverage holes, I suspect filming must have been a challenge. Suzuki and cinematographer Kazue Nagatsuka capture the ruggedness of mountain exteriors, decrepit bridges, and crumbling dirt roads, casting geography as an uncredited villain.
There are other bad guys aboard; a convicted double-murderer, and a pair of fleeing bank robbers with seriously venomous traits, though seemingly immune from random police. Here, Suzuki foretells the more extreme criminal nastiness and violence that would bloom across a decade of his later gangster classics. The rest of the cast is a ragbag of road trip characters, some with cheeky comedic overtones, others revealing a wealth of empathy and compelling backstories. Suzuki brings out the best in each. Millions in stolen loot, an assortment of ladies lingerie, and an ailing baby on board are among their carry-on luggage. His bumpy ride is never complacent, won't stop shifting gears, shot after shot. Takio Niki scores with fresh incidental and main title music, some featuring a well-orchestrated theremin. Enjoy the ride!
