The Million Ryo Pot is an acclaimed 1935 jidaigeki comedy directed by Yamanaka Sadao. In 2009 the film journal Kinema Junpo named it the seventh-greatest Japanese film of all time. This is not the version that I watched. Instead this is a review of Tange Sazen and the Pot Worth a Million Ryo, a 1982 made-for-television film directed by pulp filmmaker Gosha Hideo. It remakes the esteemed classic in colour, with a visibly limited production budget and what one assumes was an extremely truncated schedule. Yamanaka was a legend in his time, and Gosha a legend in his. Sadly by the time of Tange Sazen the former had been dead 54 years, and the latter had probably outlived his best work. There is some entertainment value to Gosha’s TV movie, but it can only be watched with the knowledge one could be watching something much better.

The weirdest thing about Tange Sazen is that Gosha had already remade Yamanaka’s film, purportedly much more effectively, all the way back in 1966’s The Secret of the Urn. Not only can the viewer watch better films, and indeed a better version of the story, they can watch a better version of the same story made by the same person.

Created in a 1927 newspaper serial by novelist Hasegawa Kaitaro, Tange Sazen was a fictional samurai that – when betrayed – lost both an arm and an eye in a mutilating attack. He wandered the Japanese wilds as a ronin, first as a bleak antihero and subsequently as a more humorous character. His popularity was such that Tange appeared in 30 feature films between the silent era and 2004. In Yamanaka’s, and subsequently Gosha’s, film Tange becomes involved in a hunt for a priceless ceramic urn that may save a samurai clan from bankruptcy.

The first thing you will notice about Tange Sazen is that it is cheap: at a guess, it was shot on 16mm film across a range of standing period sets used for any number of jidaigeki productions. Much of the costuming looks drab and formulaic. The stunt work is limited, and the sword-fighting sequences rather lackadaisical. As a television production it is presented in a 4:3 ratio, which robs Gosha of the brilliant scope picture of his earlier theatrical work.

The performances vary, but are generally of the over-the-top melodramatic kind. For some of the cast this actually works. Matsuo Kayo does a wonderfully theatrical job with her character, the thief and geisha Fuji Kushimaki. By contrast star Nakadai Tatsuya, a noted veteran of such films as The Human Condition (1959-61) and Samurai Rebellion (1967), barely appears to be putting in any effort at all. One suspects Gosha directed the film with a similar attitude.

The film’s musical score is an odd combination of saxophones and early 1980s lounge music. Perversely it is one of its strongest assets, as it gives the entire production an odd sort of parodic quality and accentuates what humour there is that works.

This is a strange footnote to Gosha Hideo’s career, and as such is really only of significant appeal to die-hard enthusiasts or completists. Pretty much everyone involved has done better things elsewhere.