“Power has always reigned supreme. Some use, while others become the used. Those who hold power are protected by it. Do you know why?”
“Because that is this country’s very foundation.”
Yakuza 4 is rough and sloppy. It’s got a ton of loose ends and demands some touching up. However, its deep and thorough reverence for series’ legacy can’t be overlooked. If you can look past the iffy occasional plotline, 4 is a thorough mechanical exploration of the series and its ideological framework. Broken men accustomed to a broken system, and yet punching their way up through pure meathead tenacity and physical brutality. Vested interest in noble samurai myth, modernized in Japan’s organized crime. Despite their many shortcomings, however, the four men atop the Millennium Tower hold a shared conviction.
Imbued with Koichi Yamadera’s swagger and nonplussed voice lines, Shun Akiyama exists as Kamurocho native. He doesn’t drop in to visit when things get rough, he’s lying around in his office during the dry patches when alleged virtuous yakuza come storming down the street. Akiyama’s seen it all, the absolute height of stature and the nadir of poverty. He’s not above sharing a couple beers with the homeless discarded around West Park. After three mainline games of steamrolling everything in sight as Kiryu, Akiyama is a nice refresher that places the world the men share in a new perspective. Suddenly, even the most petty and minute yakuza feuds become huge headaches. The ebb and flow of crime and commerce in Kamurocho is just something you get used to.
To the confusion of Kanemura’s goons, Akiyama isn’t in it for money. He’s got more of that shit than anyone could ever need. He’s like a god, strolling through the city knowing anyone that fucks with him gets the good old one-two capoeira treatment. Akiyama owes his life to the yakuza. Nishiki’s explosive departure back in ‘05 gave him an extra chance out of the life stripped away from him by the powers that be. And if that wasn’t good enough, good old Arai meted out his brand of justice to anyone looking to rob a desperate homeless man. Shun’s got nothing but respect for Arai – in his eyes, a spitting image of a future chairman. Just as the man gave him the means to pursue greater things, Akiyama’s in love with the idea of offering his own second chances to clients.
Taiga Saejima takes matters into his own hands. No bullshitting around, no asking questions until after things are done. He’s resilient as an ox, and chained down by his eighteen sins carried out all the way back in 1985. RGG Studio plays around with the idea of a good-natured yakuza grunt funneled through 25 years of The System. Saejima doesn’t have the charisma of an Akiyama or a kind of tactical mind like those moving him around as a chess piece, but he exists as an immovable wall. Saejima contrasts with Kiryu and Majima in the utter disgust he views his own legend with. He won’t look back ‘cause he cares way more about helping Sasai out than anything else, but the 18 men he took out haunt him every day. Detached civvies stand around Purgatory, treating him like a circus act – waiting for the tiger’s ferocity to dominate deathmatches. But Saejima is scared shitless of putting down another man ever again. Nobody understands the weight of life more than a man with a conscience that’s taken it.
Majima processes his trauma through his facade of the Mad Dog, an idea further touched on in Zero and Kiwami 2. The immense guilt from leaving his brother behind, and the fear of getting tricked by an asshole like Shibata again shares him shitless. But Saejima doesn’t really have that kind of tool. There’s nothing he uses to help him sleep at night, to him getting drunk on a delusion or distraction to help him sleep would mean he’s forgotten the eighteen lives he believes he’s stolen, even if just for a night.
Guy wanted nothing more than to save his stepsister and make sure she had a proper organ transplant, but ends up signing off his life to the Sasai Family, serving their beck-and-call. Despite always being under someone, Saejima chooses to be that way. He’s no charismatic magnet, but he attracts those around him willing to listen and change. Fundamentally, even if it’s for the sake of someone else, the man faces everything head-on.
Yasuko tells Tanimura his brother wanted to be a teacher. While he’s got no chance these days of being in the education system, Saejima naturally gravitates towards his mentor role. When he’s able to look past his guilt and self-loathing, the man’s able to pour into young men looking up to him. The Sodachi Dojo reinforces this idea and the way he encourages Kido to face shit head on is inspiring.
Tanimura’s a weird guy. If Akiyama is king of the night, running a good chunk of Kamurocho’s businesses, Tanimura’s here for the little nooks and crannies of the city. He knows he’s not a saint, and doesn’t care either. Meandering about day to day, knowing he can strong arm the healthy black market in the city. What’s there to say about him? He’s a dirty cop that fits the similarly coarse setting of the city. Compared to the seemingly morally righteous Arai, Tanimura doesn’t try to back up his shit with any kind of lofty speeches. He’ll empty a mag inches away from your head if it gets you talking. This fictionalized archetype of “bad cop” fits great with the storyline and adds a well-deserved extra dimension to Kamurocho.
Yakuza 4, and the series as a whole, is tied together by Kiryu’s conviction. He’s a pretty well-rounded guy by this point, living comfortably as a living legend and carrying on Kazama’s legacy through his orphanage. Kiryu’s inspirational words drive Yakuza 4: even the biggest pieces of shit can come around and learn to confide in others. Hamazaki, the guy who eats duck bones like potato chips and leaves bombs in suitcases, the man willing to surprise poke Kiryu in the gut, can still choose what little he has left of his life to shape a better world. Kiryu and Saejima are similarly bull-headed guys that have gone through it: losing their loved ones and being forced to adjust to a criminal world so incredibly drastically different from their glory days. It sucks, but Kiryu’s seen this shit before. After Yasuko croaks, Kiryu’s the one to push his ass into action.
“Too many people depend on us. Their dreams depend on us.”
Kiryu’s messed up quite a bit. He’s fundamentally split between his second life raising kids and the enormous Kanto criminal organization he pretty much walked straight out of. His routine of slipping in to help out when shit gets real bad and pulling out the whole rest of the year might be convenient, but the incredibly variable nature of his arrivals means the Tojo Clan is slowly dying. Daigo’s more aware of this than anybody else, and the rosy ideals of Kiryu don’t really convince him anymore. After the Hakuho Clan falling apart with Mine’s death, what else is he supposed to do? In his eyes, they’re pretty much screwed. And yet, it’s so incredibly damn important that the way of life we’ve vicariously lived through these past few games is preserved. Kiryu and Saejima need to fight for the Tojo Clan:
“It’s the only proof that guys like us ever existed.”
Yakuza 4 fully comes to terms with the series’ romanticizing of yakuza and places it within a deeply corrupt framework, distilling series tropes of backstabbings and betrayals down to rapid-fire gunshot sequences almost beyond parody. The reality of the yakuza, and the Kamuro police, is they’re deeply sinister and morally bankrupt. Despite it all, we can still aspire to meet Kiryu’s undying conviction.
“Because that is this country’s very foundation.”
Yakuza 4 is rough and sloppy. It’s got a ton of loose ends and demands some touching up. However, its deep and thorough reverence for series’ legacy can’t be overlooked. If you can look past the iffy occasional plotline, 4 is a thorough mechanical exploration of the series and its ideological framework. Broken men accustomed to a broken system, and yet punching their way up through pure meathead tenacity and physical brutality. Vested interest in noble samurai myth, modernized in Japan’s organized crime. Despite their many shortcomings, however, the four men atop the Millennium Tower hold a shared conviction.
Imbued with Koichi Yamadera’s swagger and nonplussed voice lines, Shun Akiyama exists as Kamurocho native. He doesn’t drop in to visit when things get rough, he’s lying around in his office during the dry patches when alleged virtuous yakuza come storming down the street. Akiyama’s seen it all, the absolute height of stature and the nadir of poverty. He’s not above sharing a couple beers with the homeless discarded around West Park. After three mainline games of steamrolling everything in sight as Kiryu, Akiyama is a nice refresher that places the world the men share in a new perspective. Suddenly, even the most petty and minute yakuza feuds become huge headaches. The ebb and flow of crime and commerce in Kamurocho is just something you get used to.
To the confusion of Kanemura’s goons, Akiyama isn’t in it for money. He’s got more of that shit than anyone could ever need. He’s like a god, strolling through the city knowing anyone that fucks with him gets the good old one-two capoeira treatment. Akiyama owes his life to the yakuza. Nishiki’s explosive departure back in ‘05 gave him an extra chance out of the life stripped away from him by the powers that be. And if that wasn’t good enough, good old Arai meted out his brand of justice to anyone looking to rob a desperate homeless man. Shun’s got nothing but respect for Arai – in his eyes, a spitting image of a future chairman. Just as the man gave him the means to pursue greater things, Akiyama’s in love with the idea of offering his own second chances to clients.
Taiga Saejima takes matters into his own hands. No bullshitting around, no asking questions until after things are done. He’s resilient as an ox, and chained down by his eighteen sins carried out all the way back in 1985. RGG Studio plays around with the idea of a good-natured yakuza grunt funneled through 25 years of The System. Saejima doesn’t have the charisma of an Akiyama or a kind of tactical mind like those moving him around as a chess piece, but he exists as an immovable wall. Saejima contrasts with Kiryu and Majima in the utter disgust he views his own legend with. He won’t look back ‘cause he cares way more about helping Sasai out than anything else, but the 18 men he took out haunt him every day. Detached civvies stand around Purgatory, treating him like a circus act – waiting for the tiger’s ferocity to dominate deathmatches. But Saejima is scared shitless of putting down another man ever again. Nobody understands the weight of life more than a man with a conscience that’s taken it.
Majima processes his trauma through his facade of the Mad Dog, an idea further touched on in Zero and Kiwami 2. The immense guilt from leaving his brother behind, and the fear of getting tricked by an asshole like Shibata again shares him shitless. But Saejima doesn’t really have that kind of tool. There’s nothing he uses to help him sleep at night, to him getting drunk on a delusion or distraction to help him sleep would mean he’s forgotten the eighteen lives he believes he’s stolen, even if just for a night.
Guy wanted nothing more than to save his stepsister and make sure she had a proper organ transplant, but ends up signing off his life to the Sasai Family, serving their beck-and-call. Despite always being under someone, Saejima chooses to be that way. He’s no charismatic magnet, but he attracts those around him willing to listen and change. Fundamentally, even if it’s for the sake of someone else, the man faces everything head-on.
Yasuko tells Tanimura his brother wanted to be a teacher. While he’s got no chance these days of being in the education system, Saejima naturally gravitates towards his mentor role. When he’s able to look past his guilt and self-loathing, the man’s able to pour into young men looking up to him. The Sodachi Dojo reinforces this idea and the way he encourages Kido to face shit head on is inspiring.
Tanimura’s a weird guy. If Akiyama is king of the night, running a good chunk of Kamurocho’s businesses, Tanimura’s here for the little nooks and crannies of the city. He knows he’s not a saint, and doesn’t care either. Meandering about day to day, knowing he can strong arm the healthy black market in the city. What’s there to say about him? He’s a dirty cop that fits the similarly coarse setting of the city. Compared to the seemingly morally righteous Arai, Tanimura doesn’t try to back up his shit with any kind of lofty speeches. He’ll empty a mag inches away from your head if it gets you talking. This fictionalized archetype of “bad cop” fits great with the storyline and adds a well-deserved extra dimension to Kamurocho.
Yakuza 4, and the series as a whole, is tied together by Kiryu’s conviction. He’s a pretty well-rounded guy by this point, living comfortably as a living legend and carrying on Kazama’s legacy through his orphanage. Kiryu’s inspirational words drive Yakuza 4: even the biggest pieces of shit can come around and learn to confide in others. Hamazaki, the guy who eats duck bones like potato chips and leaves bombs in suitcases, the man willing to surprise poke Kiryu in the gut, can still choose what little he has left of his life to shape a better world. Kiryu and Saejima are similarly bull-headed guys that have gone through it: losing their loved ones and being forced to adjust to a criminal world so incredibly drastically different from their glory days. It sucks, but Kiryu’s seen this shit before. After Yasuko croaks, Kiryu’s the one to push his ass into action.
“Too many people depend on us. Their dreams depend on us.”
Kiryu’s messed up quite a bit. He’s fundamentally split between his second life raising kids and the enormous Kanto criminal organization he pretty much walked straight out of. His routine of slipping in to help out when shit gets real bad and pulling out the whole rest of the year might be convenient, but the incredibly variable nature of his arrivals means the Tojo Clan is slowly dying. Daigo’s more aware of this than anybody else, and the rosy ideals of Kiryu don’t really convince him anymore. After the Hakuho Clan falling apart with Mine’s death, what else is he supposed to do? In his eyes, they’re pretty much screwed. And yet, it’s so incredibly damn important that the way of life we’ve vicariously lived through these past few games is preserved. Kiryu and Saejima need to fight for the Tojo Clan:
“It’s the only proof that guys like us ever existed.”
Yakuza 4 fully comes to terms with the series’ romanticizing of yakuza and places it within a deeply corrupt framework, distilling series tropes of backstabbings and betrayals down to rapid-fire gunshot sequences almost beyond parody. The reality of the yakuza, and the Kamuro police, is they’re deeply sinister and morally bankrupt. Despite it all, we can still aspire to meet Kiryu’s undying conviction.