Mifune Quotes

Mifune had a kind of talent I had never encountered before in the Japanese film world. It was, above all, the speed with which he expressed himself that was astounding. The ordinary Japanese actor might need ten feet of film to get across an impression; Mifune needed only three feet. The speed of his movements was such that he said in a single action what took ordinary actors three separate movements to express. He put forth everything directly and boldly, and his sense of timing was the keenest I had ever seen in a Japanese actor. And yet with all his quickness he also had surprisingly fine sensibilities.

Life is granted to no man on a permanent basis. It is a privilege, and we must use out time wisely. It is up to each of us to make of it what we can.

- A vida não é concedida a título permanente. - declarou. - É um privilegio e temos de utilizar o nosso tempo de forma judiciosa.Cabe-nos a todos fazer dela o que pudermos (...)A alma é como um pássaro em voo. Escapa-nos e voa livre de novo. Sem constrangimentos." (pág.323)

I find it fascinating how we can see something with our eyes, hear with our ears and speak from our mouths. Although science tells us how they work, I just really can't grasp it. I don't know how everyday items like phones work. I can't even explain why a bicycle is fast. When I think like this, I wonder how many things I really understand. Yet I can live on. Because all these mysteries have joined together to keep me alive. Sometimes I admire that before I go to bed.

There are no shortcuts because there is no end

The ordinary Japanese actor might need ten feet of film to get across an impression; Mifune needed only three feet.

We had arrived together in Lee’s Chrysler station wagon. He was staggering drunk. I begged him to let me drive. “Fuck you.” He drew back a fist. He had a whole repertoire of violent gestures, many of them cribbed from his hero, Toshiro Mifune. I tried to grab the keys, but he slashed me with his imaginary samurai sword. These were movie blows. The stopped an inch short of your neck or chin. I snatched the keys and got into the driver’s seat, the women in the back. “Get in, Lee.” Another battle of wills. How could he meekly submit, this warrior, this conqueror? We pleaded with him. He stalked and staggered round the car, raining blows on it. Finally he found a way of saving face. He climbed up and crouched on the roof rack. Despite our entreaties, he would not come down. I decided to drive slowly down the pier, hoping that the cool ocean air might sober him up. I stopped as we got to the public road. I got out. He snarled at me, would not get down. I was at my wits’ end. The streets were deserted. I drove slowly down the Pacific Coast Highway towards Malibu. Flashing lights in my rear- view mirror — sirens. I pulled over. The patrolman approached the car, warily loosening his revolver holster. He looked up, then at me. “Do you know you have Lee Marvin on your roof?