Given the opening chapter's focus on internal Yakuza machinations and street-tough theatrics, it would be easy to reflexively label Sonatine as just another dose of dirty criminal intrigue. But then, when an inauspicious job goes sideways and the little crew of posh mobsters and crass underlings are forced into hiding, it takes a hard left and becomes something entirely different. Whiling the days and weeks away in an abandoned beach house, we explore the duality of these lives and soften their outer veneer.
In that sense, the internet-famous cover photo of writer/star/director Takeshi Kitano grinning broadly while holding a gun to his head is a precise depiction of the film's themes. These gangland thugs might be all business when they're intimidating store owners or trading bullets with a rival gang (nary an eyelash is batted when Kitano and company dunk a victim for too long and accidentally drown him), but on their down time, they need to cut loose, have a few laughs and make human connections, too. The really interesting points are where those two opposite modes meet, a jolting transformation when light amusement slams into stone-serious reality and all the easy smiles melt. There's always a momentary hesitation where we can't be certain which way the scales will tip, and that's dangerously exciting. Those key moments take time to develop, though, which leads the plot to really sag in the middle.
Kitano performs very well as the central figure, a stark dichotomy of incompatible moods, but he can't be on-screen at all times and isn't always surrounded by the best supporting talent. A strong thematic concept, one which evidently developed live in the field as the script was extremely bare bones, but not especially well-executed. Loaded with promising ideas, much of Sonatine's ephemeral potential depends upon what you, the viewer, are willing to bring to the table.
