It's often claimed that restrictions and structure give birth to creative art. Post war conditions in both Italy and Japan can be cited as examples with Italy's poverty requiring a number of neo-impressionistic filmmakers to drastically economize for their work and with censorship restrictions on Japan curtailing content. Japan also opened up western contact, which may partly explain how Akira Kurosawa came to become such an international phenomenon. On the other hand, supreme talent is difficult to keep bottled up, so recognition was due to burst through eventually.

Before crafting his period masterpiece Rashomon in 1950, Kurosawa directed a number of contemporary post war Japanese dramas at the end of WWII, most notably No Regrets for Our Youth, Drunken Angel, and Stray Dog. Lost among these early Kurosawa works is the little seen The Quiet Duel (Shizukanaru ketto), which features two actors who share long collaborative resumes with the legendary director: Toshirô Mifune (16 films) and Takashi Shimura (most famously in Ikiru and Seven Samurai). Fortunately, the film has recently received DVD release and is available for U.S. viewing for the first time.

Despite moments of melodrama, The Quiet Duel contains a great deal to savor—beyond helping complete the Kurosawa canon or see early work by a pair of his most well-known acting favorites. Kurosawa mines a compelling story that includes conflicted characters, painful unrequited love, and explores social issues without bludgeoning the audience.

Opening during the war in a jungle medical tent, army surgeon Kyoji Fijisaki (Mifune) operates on a severely wounded patient during a heavy rainstorm. Lights flicker under the horrible conditions and Kyoji removes his gloves for a better grip and subsequently cuts himself on a mishandled scapel. He continues on his patient despite the risk of infection. It's a life and death situation.

After the successful operation, however, Kyoji learns that his noble efforts have destroyed his own dreams. His patient is in the early stages of syphilis, a severe veneral disease that can lead to insanity and death if not treated properly. Treatment is long and complicated, requiring carefully monitored regular salvarsan injections over a period of many years. Even worse is the stigma attached to the disease; Japanese consider this among the worst disgraces imaginable. While this is of little consequence to the openly promiscuous patient, the news devastates Kyoji, who realizes that he most certainly also has the disease.

Kyoji has prided himself on following in his father's footprints, the older obstetrician (Shimura) revered much like a saint in his community. Even worse, Kyoji has long been engaged to his beloved Masao (Miki Sanjo), and both have worn chastity before their anticipated wedding. Deeply distraught, Kyoji cannot bring himself to tell Masao about his misfortune—knowing that she might well understand, but would then sacrifice her prime years waiting the six years it will take before his cure can be complete. He chooses to stoicly appear indifferent and break off the engagement.

Meanwhile, a feisty suicidal patient named Rui Minegishi (Noriko Sengoku) spices up the narrative. Denied an abortion and without a livelihood, she opts to serve as an apprentice nurse. Her quick tongue is equally matched by her mind, and she learns nursing techniques and terminology effortlessly. In fact, she is the one who discovers Kyoji's secret when she sees him inject himself. At first she believes that this merely tarnishes the idealistic young doctor, proving that ALL men are cads, but she discovers that she is vastly mistaken as the story unfolds.

Another subplot develops when the wartime patient reappears. His uninformed wife is now pregnant, and the man shows absolutely no remorse for his past behavior nor has he changed his lascivious code of living for the moment. Kurosawa provides a pointed health and moral lesson with this character—a direct polar contrast with the responsible doctor.

Even in this more primitive period, touches of primetime Kurosawa remain evident. Moral dilemmas predominate as our conflicted protagonist strives to carry forward. Economically constructed scenes visually emphasize Kyoji's isolation. Even when together with Masao, Rui, or his father he is separated from them--either sitting apart, facing another direction, or standing perpendicular to them as they speak. Wistfully, Kyoji wonders "Does war change people so much." According to this long neglected little Kurosawa gem, the answer is in the affirmative.